I Am Elphaba
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: Very AU. My take on the Elphaba-takes-New York, modern day genre. Named after a fictional character, this Elphaba wants to know her connection to Wicked. She wants purpose, much like her namesake. She wonders if she is an incarnation of an imaginary character, or if she is somehow connected to a real Oz. And in her search, she finds great joy, and great heartbreak.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a little nugget that was inspired by reading When Worlds Collide by Elphaba-WWW. Sometimes, that's all it takes to get my muse going.**

**So, I keep changing this summary. I don't know why, but I can't be satisfied with it. I think because, although this story is in the vein of 'what if Elphaba was born in modern day and went to New York', I'm going to go to a deeper place with this one. This Elphaba was born in London, and travels to Manhattan to try to understand herself. She wants to know her connection to Wicked. She wants purpose, much like her namesake. She wonders if she is an incarnation of an imaginary character, or if she is somehow connected to a real Oz. And in her search, she finds great joy, and great heartbreak. And some of that purpose she was looking for.**

**I know, this one is out there. But this is Fanfiction. Even the craziest idea has its place. Enjoy.**

**One warning...this one will have some mature content later. Some of the material may be difficult.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Elphaba?"

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Your name is Elphaba?"

She nodded, gritting her teeth.

"Your actual name?"

"Yes, my _actual_ name."

Her accent was thick, with the drawled vowels and chopped syllables of something almost cockney, but not quite musical enough.

"So you're British Elphaba?"

The young man was smirking, clearly trying to hold in laughter.

"If you like," she snipped.

As he scanned her ticket, the freckled young man threw out, "You fans get weirder and weirder every night."

"Yeah, I suppose we do," she agreed with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

She pulled her knit hat down on her head and fluffed her long, wavy hair around her face. She kept it that way because it made a nice, dark curtain to hide behind. As she milled through the crowded lobby, Elphaba pulled her sleeves down as far as they would go over her hands. Her dark jeans revealed nothing. Her feet were shod in furry boots in seal grey. She was boring, unassuming, and ordinary. Until someone looked closer. Then, they asked questions.

And the questions were always the same…

"Is that your costume?"

Elphaba threw out random answers, "Sure."

"That makeup must've taken you forever!"

"I imagine it would."

"How many times have you seen the show?"

"Forty-seven," she lied.

The truth was, she had never seen it. It had taken her months to save up the money to buy just this one ticket. Then, she'd had to work up the nerve to actually go. She had wondered about people's reactions, because she had never been in a place so very public before. She never put herself in front of people, not since she'd left the freak shows behind. When people did spot her, she allowed them to believe she was a master of makeup. That was one of the reasons she'd chosen this city, because of the show. Because people would rather believe she was the world's biggest _Wicked_ fan with the world's best makeup job than accept the idea of an actual green girl.

But she was an actual green girl. Born in Croydon in South London, she could only imagine what her parents must've thought of her at birth. She would never know, however, because they had dropped her off at the nearest hospital and had taken off. The nurses at the tiny, poorly staffed community hospital hadn't known what to think. They'd tested her and watched her. And then, someone had stolen her. Or, perhaps, one of the nurses had seen an opportunity to make a few pounds and had sold her. She would never know. All Elphaba knew is that a few tabloids had run a few grainy photos of her as a baby, first when she'd been born and then when she'd gone missing. And the pictures were received with as much respect as most tabloid news. People read them out of curiosity and dismissed them. The tiny green baby, however, was real.

Her earliest memories were of sharing a tiny room with a little boy who'd been born with no legs. His parents had been too poor to raise him. They had food and water. She had something resembling clothes. She was not ill-treated, for the most part, but she knew nothing of any other life. She slept on lumpy cots and traveled in rusty vans to carnivals around Great Britain. People paid a few dollars to come in and see the various freaks of nature, most of whom were just that. There was nothing magical or scary about them, once you got to know them. The majority simply needed employment and had been turned away everywhere else. Elphaba had come to learn that people come in many shapes, sizes, and varieties. But even in the twenty-first century, some people still shut out and push aside those who are different. So, when a woman grows a beard, a man's skin starts to look like an elephant, or someone is born a primordial dwarf, they are freaks. They draw in an audience of people who are shielded from such anomalies by their own prejudice.

And yet, as shocked or disgusted as people were by some of the "freaks", most of them didn't really believe they were all real. Especially the green girl. Everyone assumed her skin was a trick of the light or a masterful paint job. Elphaba heard their comments, but she got used to them. She wasn't unhappy. The gruff men and women around her were the only family she knew, and it was enough. It was enough, for a while.

But Elphaba was smart. She wasn't educated, formally, but she'd learned to read. She devoured books. And it was thus that she'd found _Wicked_. In it were pictures of the show that had once played in the West End. It captivated her, to see herself as this beloved character. And for some reason, the story gave her courage. So, at eighteen, she had decided to claim her freedom and run. She left the relative safety of the vagabonds who'd raised her. She had taken her meager savings from the carnivals and bought one ticket to New York City.

And here she was, one year later. It had taken her this long to save up the money to see the show that had been captivating her interest for years. She couldn't help resenting the people around her a bit, though she knew it was presumptuous to think that they all had money overflowing from their pockets. Still, most of them didn't know the value of the seat they would be sitting in.

As Elphaba made her way to her seat near the back of the mezzanine, she thought about how many hours she had worked to feed herself and save for this. She had told every lie she could think of to gain employment. She'd tattooed her whole body. She'd been dyed in a chemical accident. She was suffering the results of a clinical trial gone terribly wrong. Or, on the streets, she was just a great, big, ridiculous _Wicked_ fan. She had finally found a job washing dishes, because it kept her out of sight. Once her employers and coworkers had gotten used to her, her shifts were unceremonious. Only on the streets or in the market was she occasionally accosted by someone who wanted to see her "makeup" and hear about how big of a fan of the musical she was.

"And maybe, after this," she mumbled to herself, "I finally will be."

Hunched in her seat, Elphaba perused the Playbill. She found the name 'Elphaba' in the cast list and marveled at how odd it always was to see her name in print. No one else had her name. No one. Just this character. She knew it was crazy, but part of her wanted to find something in this show. She had read the book over and over, hoping to find something there. She knew it was most likely that she was just named after fiction, that she was truly a freak, but a part of her wondered if there wasn't something in the story that might help her understand who she was.

The girl playing her was named Amy. It seemed like a pretty boring name for someone playing such an incredible character. And Amy was blonde, Elphaba noted. She smiled in her picture, her blonde hair falling to her shoulders.

_Amy, I bet you have absolutely no idea how Elphaba really feels. But I bet you sing really well._

Elphaba knew she was being spiteful. For all she knew, Amy was raised by psychotic nuns who liked to whip children. She knew that to judge Amy by her blondeness was the same as people judging her by her greenness. But she couldn't help it. It made her feel a little better.

After a few minutes, a couple with a young daughter sat down in the seats beside her. The woman glanced at Elphaba, who was trying to sit low in her seat and take advantage of the shadows.

After a minute of whispering with her husband, the woman asked, "Did you do that makeup yourself?"

Elphaba fought the urge to be fantastically rude.

Instead, she said, "Yes, I did."

"Little Molly has seen the show twelve times. It's her favorite."

_I bet little Molly has absolutely no appreciation for how much money has been spent on her spoiled self._

Elphaba bit her tongue.

The woman went on, "I just love Amy McLean. She's a little short for Elphaba, but she can certainly belt it out."

After a moment, Elphaba realized the woman was staring at her, doe-eyed, waiting for a response.

"Oh. Yeah, I think so too."

The woman, who had on a very unflattering brown skirt, kept talking, "I also love this theater. There's just no bad seat in the Gershwin."

"Definitely," Elphaba agreed, nodding as though she'd been in this place a thousand times.

Brown-Skirt's husband piped up then, reaching around his wife toward Elphaba, "Can I touch your hand? It looks so real…"

"Umm…"

Before Elphaba could say no, he was holding her right hand. Then, he was still holding her hand. A minute and half later, when he was still touching her, she had nick-named him 'The Hand Molester'. When she finally pulled her hand away, he looked vastly disappointed.

"I can't believe how even you got the color," he mumbled.

"Lots of practice," she tossed out.

"It feels just like skin," Hand Molester marveled.

"Well, it is skin," Elphaba snapped before she could catch herself.

"And do I detect an accent?" Brown-skirt was grinning obnoxiously.

"Yep. I do it to go with my character. I'm British Elphie."

"Well that's lovely," Brown-skirt was still smiling, oblivious to Elphaba's snarking.

Mercifully, the music finally started. And it was loud. Little Molly could've been crying or squealing and Elphaba wouldn't have known. She'd never heard an entire orchestra through an expensive sound system before. It was startling and magical at the same time. Then, after a few minutes, Elphaba's namesake ran to center stage holding a suitcase and inspiring thunderous applause. Elphaba politely joined in, noting that a lot of people seemed to like Amy.

_God, please let Amy be from Long Island and have a father who is a doctor. Let my hatred of her perfect life be justified._

Elphaba wasn't sure why she wanted to hate Amy. After all, she knew nothing about her. Maybe it was because Amy knew who she was, and where she came from. Maybe it was because, at the end of the night, Amy could wash off the green. And most likely, it was because Amy got all the glamour of being Elphaba without any of the reality of it.

After a few minutes, however, Amy began to fade away. Elphaba started to see herself, and it was unnerving. She heard her name being used and heard fragments of things she might've said. Like this character, Elphaba could be a little snarky. She also heard some things she wished she'd said. Certain things, like some of the insults and the alienation, were so accurate it stung. But this wasn't her story. This girl's life, full of magic and talking animals, was nothing like Elphaba's reality.

_Artichoke. Greenie. Witch._

She had been billed as the Little Asparagus Girl at first, and then, eventually, as the Little Witch. She hadn't understood why until she'd finally been allowed to see _The Wizard of Oz_ on an old, flickering television set. That was one of the first memories she had of realizing that her skin made people afraid.

_No one mourns the wicked._

That lyric hit especially hard, because already she had been discarded by those who should have loved her. And she assumed her parents did not mourn the loss of her.

_No good deed._

This was her favorite part, she quickly decided. Elphaba was too much of a realist for Defying Gravity. It was beautiful, but too fanciful. However, seeing herself tearing around the stage trying to make things right to no avail felt beautifully real. In "No Good Deed", Elphaba saw herself the most. It was a metaphor, to her, for the way she struggled through life, trying to find herself in a world that seemed to have already decided who she was.

By curtain call, when the green girl onstage became Amy again, Elphaba still ached for more. She hadn't expected to be this moved. She had mostly just wanted to know what all the hype was about. So she was more transfixed than she'd expected.

_It's the universality of the story,_ logic told her, _Elphaba is an outcast who gets the guy. Who isn't drawn to that? _

Yet feelings trumped logic. She wanted more. Elphaba wished she could come back the next day and the next. She flipped through her Playbill again as she filed out of the theater, hoping Hand Molester was too busy carrying little Molly to bother her again. She hung back just enough to make sure she lost them in the lobby.

Then, as she was standing just outside the theater doors, she heard someone ask, "Are you going to the stage door?"

"Absolutely," someone answered, "I don't have Amy's autograph yet and I need it for my wall."

Elphaba carefully turned and found the source of the conversation. Two teenage girls, covered in _Wicked_ regalia, were pulling on furry hats and making their way outside. She followed them in spite of herself. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to meet Amy. Perhaps it was to confirm the Long Island-Rich Dad theory. Maybe it was to see what she looked like de-greenified. Or perhaps it was because Amy had just spent two hours being her, and Elphaba couldn't fathom being paid to do that.

So she followed the yapping teenagers around the building to a door that looked like it might lead to a crack house. Clearly, actors with high salaries were not guaranteed a posh entryway that didn't originate in an alley where a homeless man was sleeping. For some reason, that made Elphaba smile a little to herself.

Fluffing her hair around her face again, she pulled her hat down and waited in line. There weren't that many people this time, perhaps because it was so cold. After a few minutes, actors trickled out in various stages of dress. Some were fully made up and looked ready to go out, others wore hats and what looked like pajamas. Amy was last. She greeted her fans and signed Playbills. She worked her way through the people until only Elphaba was left. Amy startled a little at the sight.

Regaining her composure, Amy stated, "Nice makeup."

"Thanks," Elphaba mumbled.

She handed over her Playbill because Amy seemed so ready to write her name all over everything.

Before she could stop herself, Elphaba blurted out, "I just want to know, what is it like? To be Elphaba every night?"

Amy cocked her head and capped her pen. She handed the Playbill back and said, "It's fun. It's hard work. It's exhausting and I have to keep my voice healthy. But I love it."

"No," Elphaba pushed, "what is it like to be…_her_. To be the green girl?"

Amy looked at her as though the question was deeper than she'd expected. She crossed her arms and answered, "It makes me think about how I treat other people."

_Damn,_ Elphaba thought, _that was a pretty decent answer._

"Do you think it would effect how you would act," Elphaba went on, "if you met someone who really was that…different?"

"I would hope so," Amy said without hesitation.

Elphaba started to turn away, and then quickly asked, "What does your father do? For a living?"

Amy looked at her oddly, but said, "He's a plastic surgeon."

Elphaba fought to keep a straight face.

"Have a good night," Amy waved goodbye, "And I love your accent."

Elphaba dropped her face in her hands, because in spite of being grass-green, her accent is what stood out the most to Amy.

* * *

Later that night, as Elphaba laid awake in her apartment the size of a broom closet, she let her mind wander over what she had seen and heard that day. She tried to decide if she had gained anything by seeing the show, or if she was just disappointed and out a hundred dollars. She wondered if it was time to accept, once and for all, that her life was a coincidence. That she had been named after a character because, what else do you call a green baby? She was Elphaba in name only. She had no magical powers, no great purpose, and no reason to believe that the story of her namesake told her anything about herself. Still, she was troubled.

Eventually, she settled on the cause of her feelings. Like the fictional Elphaba, she wanted to matter. More than she wanted to know where she came from, she wanted to know where she was going. She wanted to be a part of the world and leave her mark on it. She wanted to do…something.

_And it would nice, _she couldn't help thinking, _to find a Fiyero…_

She fell asleep with a slight smile on lips that had never been kissed.

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**Now, I need to know what you think. And this is not just a plea for more reviews so I'll post more. I really want to know the reaction to this so I can decide if my muse can sustain it, and if it's going anywhere. Let me know your actual thoughts. Cat**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, here's chapter 2. Sorry I'm so slow. Life makes FF very hard right now. I really want to crank this one out, though. I think it will be a short story instead of a novel, but I like it. It's different and fun to write. And as much as I love Elphaba in the world of Wicked, I also love the world of theater as well. I hope you'll continue to enjoy.**

**Note: I made a few changes to chapter 1 once I went back and read over it. Nothing major, but I'm a perfectionist. I hope I got all the typos out of these. :-)**

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**Chapter 2**

"I don't believe you, you know."

Elphaba looked up from a sink full of soapy dishes. She had just loaded the industrial washer and was working on the prep dishes. She studied the man who had spoken to her.

"About what?" she asked cautiously.

"I don't think you tattooed yourself because you're such a big _Wicked _fan."

Elphaba looked at him, nervous. 'He' was the guy who brought bread to the restaurant where she worked every week. Usually, he came and went without comment. Today, however, he eyed her curiously.

"Well, I am," she was defensive, "And I did."

"And you're name is Elphaba?"

"Yep," she turned back to her work.

"So, you must've shaved your head…to get the green to cover your scalp like that," he went on.

Uncomfortable, Elphaba stated, "Uh huh."

"That's quite a commitment. You must've seen the show a lot of times."

"Of course. Forty-seven," she threw out, hoping that was the same number she'd used the last time she was asked.

"Then you probably know how Galinda describes Elphaba when they are writing to their parents, right? You could probably quote that."

Elphaba stopped. She turned and stared at him, perplexed and a little scared. She had no answer, because she couldn't exactly remember.

Finally, she said, "I'm busy."

"My sister is a huge _Wicked _fan," he went on, "she goes a lot. I bet she would remember seeing you…"

Elphaba stared at him again, trying to decide what to say. Finally, she tried to change the subject, asking, "What's your name again?'

"Sam," he answered.

She looked at him, incredulous, and snapped, "There's no way that's your real name."

"What? It doesn't fit?" he asked with a smirk.

She looked him over more carefully this time. He was tallish, with very dark, curly hair that was trying to fall into his eyes. Those eyes were wide, brooding, and the color of rich chocolate. His skin was either tanned effectively or naturally the color of slightly creamed coffee. His build was strong, but not imposing, his shoulders broad. His features weren't quite chiseled, but he had a wide smile and a strong jaw. He looked nothing like a 'Sam'.

"I'll tell you a secret," he went on, "My name is Sayid. But it causes me too much trouble. It makes me sound to 'brown' for some people."

"Brown?" Elphaba smirked.

"Yeah. Brown is not such a popular color to be in this country. Especially in New York."

Elphaba looked at him for another long moment, trying to decide how he meant the statement. She knew a little American history. She'd read about slavery and a little about terrorism. Still, it was all just vague facts to her.

He finished stocking the bread racks and then said, as he turned to go, "You know, it wouldn't bother me if you really were green. It's just skin. I mean, if it were possible to be a green girl."

He looked at her for a long time, and Elphaba felt her spine bristle for a reason she couldn't name. Then, he was gone.

* * *

The following morning, Elphaba woke up to pounding on her door. She stumbled out of bed and walked the ten steps to the door. Unbolting and unlatching it, she jerked it open with a creak. On the other side stood a tall woman with poorly chosen glasses. She pushed up the heavy frames and handed Elphaba some papers.

"Miss Elphaba…Thropp?" the woman asked with a hint of disdain.

"Yes?"

"Do you have some form of identification?"

Elphaba sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. She went to the box of important things she kept under her bed. After a minute, she produced her British passport, which had taken a chunk of her savings and lot of work to obtain before she had been able to fly. She handed it to the bespectacled woman unceremoniously.

The woman flipped it open and studied it.

"Thropp?" Glasses asked again.

Elphaba sighed, "It's English."

In reality, it wasn't at all. It was Maguire-ish. Her whole name had been ripped from fiction, because she'd been abandoned with no identification whatsoever. The nurses had stolen her whole name from Gregory Maguire.

Handing the passport back after a moment, Glasses stated flatly, "Miss Thropp, I have to inform you that you have overstayed your tourist visa by more than six months and are therefore subject to deportation. You will need to appear in court on the date listed on this form in order to contest this decision."

Elphaba felt her stomach hit the floor.

The woman looked her over then, as though she were finally forming a personal opinion rather than routinely delivering legal documents. She frowned and asked, "Are you in some sort of cult?"

"No," Elphaba sighed, "I'm just a really big _Wicked_ fan who can't get enough."

The lie felt especially heavy that morning.

The woman in glasses wrinkled her nose in disapproval. With a sniff, she said, "All the information is in the paperwork."

Then, she turned and walked away, leaving Elphaba alone and very worried.

* * *

Three days later, Elphaba's nerves were worn to bare ends. She had no idea what to do. So she was sitting outside the back door of her workplace on an overturned bucket, trying to decide the best way to plead for asylum. It seemed her only recourse, because she certainly had no special skill or distant relatives that would justify her stay in the US. But she didn't want to be deported back to London. It wasn't that she had anything against it, or that she particularly disliked her birthplace. There just wasn't anything for her there but a thousand carnivals and people who might be angry with her. According to the paperwork she'd been given and the information she'd found online, the only way to stay in the US was to get married, to prove she had relatives in New York that justified her stay, or to show she had a special skill that she was using for employment. So Elphaba racked her brain while staring at a rat who'd found an apple core in the trash in the alley.

"You look awesome."

A voice startled her and she looked up.

"You've become really talkative all of a sudden," she mumbled.

"I guess I finally got up my courage," Sam explained.

"I can't imagine why you would need courage to talk to me," she dismissed him, "And I'm fine."

"Again, you don't look fine," he pressed.

"I'm being deported," Elphaba blurted out before she could stop herself. She instantly regretted it.

He looked genuinely upset.

"Why?" he asked.

She sighed, having opened up this discussion, so she would have to answer, "I'm not illegal. I've just been here too long."

"But you're working," he offered.

"That's not the reason I gave when I came, so I'm not supposed to work," Elphaba answered.

"Oh," he understood.

There was a quiet moment.

"Do you have some free time? This is my last delivery, and there's a coffee place on the corner…" Sam suggested vaguely.

Elphaba stared at him incredulously.

"You want me to go with you?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Sure," he smiled, "You look like you need a friend. I don't bite. It's a public place. And I don't care what color you are or why."

Elphaba meant to say no, but she'd been in a foreign country for more than a year with no companionship except for the occasional, nosy _Wicked_ fan. She couldn't even keep a pet in her tiny apartment. So, if only for lack of human interaction, she shrugged and said, "Ok. I have a break before the lunch rush."

He led the way briefly before she threw out, "But I'm not calling you Sam. I like Sayid. It fits you better."

He smiled and said, "It means 'descendent of Mohammed.' I think it means I'm special."

Elphaba rolled her eyes and kept walking.

Two hours later, they were still talking in the tiny coffee shop. In spite of herself, Elphaba was drawn to his charm, and she could tell he'd spent his life working with people. He was open, unassuming, and without pretention. He worked hard to support his mother and sister. He was a nice person. A genuine person. He was the unexpected friend she badly needed. And he seemed not to see her skin, which Elphaba could not understand.

After they'd talked for so long, Sayid finally said, "I'm glad you said yes today. You're pretty good company."

Elphaba could tell he meant it.

She hesitated and then said, "It's nice to have a friend. It's hard to get to know people when you look like me. Which I guess was my choice, when I did this," she added quickly.

He looked like he was going to say something important, but a noise outside caught their attention. Two police cars had pulled up at the curb outside Grub, the restaurant where Elphaba worked. She and Sayid quickly made their way outside to see what might be happening.

Standing outside the coffee shop, they witnessed Antonio, the owner of Grub, being led out in handcuffs. Elphaba backed up against the brick wall, afraid. Sayid looked at her and then crossed the street to approach an officer. She could tell he was explaining that he was a vendor for the restaurant, and was asking what was happening. The officer offered a few quick words. Then, Sayid returned.

Quietly he asked, "How was that guy paying you? The owner of Grub?"

Elphaba felt her throat tighten and she said, "Cash."

"Did you fill out paperwork?" he pressed.

She shook her head, not sure why she was telling a stranger all these things.

Sayid took her arm, not unkindly, and led her away. He didn't stop walking for nearly ten blocks. Finally, off of Amsterdam Street, just north of hundred fifty-first, he stopped.

Out of breath, she asked, "Are you kidnapping me?"

"No. I'm helping you. That place was being raided. Your boss has apparently being paying cash to illegals to work for him."

"Oh," she didn't know what else to say.

"Don't you know you can't just work for cash?"

Elphaba shrugged, "It was work. And I needed money. And how am I supposed to know all the rules?"

"Are you _trying_ to get deported? And arrested?" Sayid asked in exasperation.

"Why do you care?" Elphaba demanded.

He looked at her, wounded, "Because I'm a nice person?"

She couldn't argue with him, based solely on what she knew of him, and Elphaba felt a little remorse.

"Come on," he instructed, walking away.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Somewhere not in the middle of the street."

She heaved a sigh and followed, because she didn't have any other, better options. And Sayid didn't seem any more dangerous than any of the other vagabonds she'd been raised around.

He led her a few more blocks north to a nondescript, brick apartment building. They climbed the stairs because there was no elevator. On the fourth floor, he led her to apartment 417. Only once they were inside did Elphaba think twice about whether this was a good idea.

"I hope you're not going to kill me," she tossed out.

He rolled his eyes, "As if I've never heard that one before."

She looked at him in confusion.

Dropping his keys on a table by the door, Sayid explained, "I get screened four times in any airport. I get randomly questioned by the police. I get death glares on planes. Or on _plane_, since I've only flown once. You'd be surprised how many people think I'm going to kill them. Hate to disappoint everyone, but I just drive bread around Manhattan."

Elphaba felt a sudden pang of understanding. That feeling of being judged, she could relate to. It was a rare thing, to have a connection with someone.

"Why is it so bad to be brown?" she asked naively.

Sayid cocked his head, "I'm Arabic, by birth. Saudi Arabia, to be specific. But my family has been in America for three generations, and none of us are practicing Muslims anymore. Still, we're the wrong kind of brown, I guess."

Elphaba decided she needed to read more current American news, and probably some American history. When she'd chosen to come here, she had seen only the opportunities in the US, and was blind to the prejudices. She focused so much on how hard it was to be the only green person, that she hadn't considered that anyone else might remotely understand her struggle. It was a selfish way of thinking, she realized.

"I understand," she finally said softly.

"I bet you do," he smiled.

He really did have a nice smile.

"It can't be easy being a real green person," he added.

"I'm not…"

Sayid approached her. He carefully took her hand in his and studied it. He turned it over and examined her fingernails. She was very aware of the fact that she didn't mind his examination nearly as much as Hand Molester's.

After gently studying her fingers, he said, "You tattooed under your fingernails?"

"Sure," she tossed out.

"I don't think that's possible," he countered.

She sighed heavily and then asked, "What does it matter to you? Are you looking for a way to make money? I guess being a freak in this country is no different than being a freak in my own. It does make money, sometimes. Or do you want to turn me over to somebody, for the publicity?"

Sayid's expression darkened, "Is that what you did? In London? Work in a freak show?"

"How do you know where I'm from?" she snapped.

"You told me when we first met. When you told me about your implausible, full-body tattoo," he smiled.

Elphaba had no answer.

"And," he added, "there's your distinctive accent…"

She snorted, "Most of you Americans can't tell the difference between British and Australian."

"Well, I can," Sayid was still smiling.

Elphaba felt herself soften toward him a little more, and she offered, "It's South London. The accent. It's not cockney, like some people think."

"Well, I guess neither of us are exactly what people think," Sayid answered.

Elphaba couldn't argue.

They spent the rest of the day together. They talked for several hours in Sayid's apartment, which wasn't much bigger than Elphaba's. Once the sun started to fade, and they decided no one had followed them and that it was safe to go out, they headed to a little restaurant down the street. Sayid made her try Israeli food, and Elphaba was pleasantly surprised. It was good. And the company was good. By the end of the day, when they were sitting on the tiny, rooftop balcony of Sayid's apartment building, Elphaba made a confession.

"I've never had a real friend before."

He turned from the stars and looked at her, "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"How is that possible? I've seen some really weird people still manage to make a friend or two."

"Thanks," Elphaba scoffed sarcastically, "but being the world's only green girl means there is, in fact, no one else as _weird_ as me."

There was a quiet moment, and she realized what she'd finally admitted.

"So you are a green girl?" Sayid asked rhetorically.

Elphaba took a deep breath and stated, "Yes."

"You were born this way?"

"Yep."

"So your parents were…normal?"

Elphaba snorted, "I have no idea. I imagine so. They abandoned me, so I'll never know."

After a minute, Sayid said, "I'm sorry for that."

"It's not so terrible. If they didn't want me, good riddance. And it was hard, being a 'freak'. But now…I just want to figure out who I am. In spite of the green."

"Don't we all," Sayid mused, and then asked, "And your name really is Elphaba?"

"Yep. Elphaba Thropp. The nurses named me."

"Well, I guess it fits," Sayid smiled at her, "Have you ever actually seen _Wicked_?"

"Once," she admitted.

"Maybe we could get you a lifetime pass or something," Sayid chuckled.

Elphaba sat upright, from where she'd been leaning against an old lawn chair. She stared at him and said, "This has been one of the most bizarre days of my life. And you're one of the craziest, most normal people I've ever met."

"Is that a compliment?" He met her gaze.

"Sure," she threw out.

There was a long, quiet minute between them.

Finally, he asked, "Do you sing?"

"What?"

"I had to ask," Sayid explained, "I mean, someone who looks like the lead in a musical? I had to ask."

Elphaba considered the question.

"I don't know," she eventually answered.

"Sing something," he suggested.

She laughed out loud.

"Seriously," he pressed.

Elphaba stared at him, incredulous.

"You have to know at least one song," Sayid encouraged.

Elphaba chewed her lip. Then she stated, "I had a coworker who owned the soundtrack to _Les Mis._ She was a dwarf-stripper. Don't ask about that. But she played that soundtrack to death. So I do know one song…"

"Sing it."

Elphaba shook her head.

"The worst thing that happens is you're terrible. And you can't be more terrible than me," Sayid offered.

"You can't sing at all?" she asked.

He butchered a few bars of "Happy Birthday" to prove it.

"Ok. Not a note," she agreed.

Sayid shrugged and pressed, "Sing something."

Elphaba closed her eyes and took a breath. Keeping them closed, she allowed a few measures of "On My Own" to flow from her lips. She tried to do it justice, knowing she could at least communicate the loneliness. She enjoyed it more than she expected, and she suddenly remembered singing to herself as a child. She would close her eyes and sing when the staring eyes of her audience became too much. It wasn't a bad memory, because it reminded her of feeling peaceful, and in control. She was suddenly grateful that Sayid had pressed for her to remember this part of herself. So she finished strong, with sweet, clear notes cast into the starlit sky.

When she opened her eyes, Sayid was staring at her. His eyes were wide and pensive, his hands clasped together and slung between his knees. When he said nothing, Elphaba stood and walked a few paces away, embarrassed. After a moment, he followed, stopping just behind her. She turned and looked at him, uncertain.

Sayid ran a hand through his hair and said, "You shouldn't be hiding from the world."

Elphaba met his eyes and said, "Neither should you."

He held her gaze, and she couldn't quite read his expression. After a long moment, he suddenly stepped in and closed the space between them. Wrapping one strong hand around the small of her back, he kissed her full on the mouth without warning.

Elphaba felt her breath hitch. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but she didn't. She felt her body flush in a way that was foreign to her. She went with it, allowing him to make her first kiss anything but chaste. After a solid minute, he pulled away, and then quickly recaptured her lips again, as though the exploration had been incomplete.

When Sayid finally pulled away and looked at her, Elphaba thought she should be offended. He really had no right. It was a presumptuous and entirely inappropriate thing to do. They'd really only known each other for a day.

As if he were reading her thoughts, he said, "I've been watching you for weeks now, washing dishes. I've wanted to ask you out, to get to know you. I hope I didn't just ruin it all. I mean, this wasn't even actually a date. It was more of an…escape."

Elphaba put her hand to her lips, because they still felt on fire, and said, "I'm guessing you've kissed a lot of girls…"

Sayid looked away and mumbled, "Not really."

After another moment, Elphaba asked, "Do you think I can sing?"

He looked back into her eyes, as though he was surprised that that was her next question. Then, he answered, "Absolutely. But I might be biased."

She straightened herself up to her full height, which wasn't very tall, and said, "Then let's find me a place to sing. Maybe I have a special skill after all."

Sayid nodded, still surprised.

"Maybe it's time to stop hiding. After all, I've already been a freak. What's the worst that can happen?"

"They could send you back to London. Or do medical experiments on you," Sayid found his voice.

"Then so be it. Today, I think you made me realize…I'm tired of lying."

Sayid stepped close to her again and said, "You really are the coolest person I've ever met."

He leaned in to kiss her again, and she put her hands on his chest, "Maybe we should slow this down. I don't need to wreck my first real friendship before it's even begun."

Sayid looked ashamed, and ran his hand though his dark curls again, "I'm sorry. I'm a passionate person. I got carried away."

Elphaba smiled at him and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Then she asked, "Take me home? It's been an...interesting day."

Sayid nodded, and led the way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3. Chapter 4 is in the works because this story is just coming to me. Sometimes it happens that way. **

**BTW...in case any of you picked up on it, I'm very much influenced by Sayid from Lost here. This character is a much younger, much less jaded person, but I've always loved that character. And Lost. **

**Also, the "hand molester" is based on a real person. I actually had someone say to me, while I was in full Wicked regalia, Act 2 dress and all, that my hand 'felt like skin'. After he held my hand for a solid three minutes. People are weird. :-P**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Well, you sang a note that time."

Sayid was staring at her with a smile trying to take over his lips.

Elphaba scowled at him. She pulled her hoodie around herself and over her head. She tried to hide inside the folds of fabric.

Sayid slung an arm around her shoulders and said, "Let's go home. I'll make you soup."

"You mean you'll make your mom make me soup," Elphaba snapped.

"Do you really want me to cook soup?" he asked rhetorically.

Elphaba grimaced, "I don't think either one of us should cook anything."

Sayid chuckled as they walked toward the nearest subway station.

So many of their days had been like this over the past six weeks. Sayid had helped her research the audition circuit in New York, which was just as daunting as Elphaba had imagined. Not that she'd spent much time ever imagining it. The idea of doing anything in front of people had always seemed laughable. But something from seeing _Wicked_ had stuck with her. Something like a flame had been lit within her. She was tired of hiding. She was tired of lying.

_I'm through accepting limits,_

_ Cause someone says they're so._

_ Some things I cannot change,_

_ But till I try I'll never know._

The lyrics had imprinted themselves on her. She wanted to know what she could do, and that desire was trumping her fear. She had been standing in day-long lines waiting for a chance to audition for anything musical. And for someone who was non-equity, it was a brutal process. She had no agent, no connections, no experience, and no resume. She was the same as thousands of other girls who just wanted to make it in New York. With one glaring exception. The moment she stepped into the light on any stage or in any rehearsal studio for an audition, she was laughed at. She'd heard every snide, _Wicked-_themed joke that existed. Everyone assumed she was a crazy fan trying to get fifteen minutes of fame. It was humiliating, and Elphaba was beginning to wonder if their assumptions were, in fact, true.

"Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I'm not even that good. I mean, even if they looked beyond the green, maybe I'm still not a great singer," she mumbled as they rode the train north toward home.

Sayid looked at her, saying, "I think you're the best."

"You have to say that. You have to live with me," she grumbled.

And he did. Once Elphaba lost her job washing dishes at Grub, she could no longer afford even the most low-income of apartments in Manhattan. So Sayid had offered to let her stay with him. She had been shocked and wary at first, but he was her only friend, her only connection in this big city. So Elphaba agreed, figuring if he turned out to be crazy, it couldn't be much worse than being attacked by another crazy person while living under a bridge. Yet, so far, he was not. Sayid's apartment was small, with just a living space, closet-like kitchen and a tiny bedroom. The tiny balcony off the kitchen faced west, however, with a clear view of the Hudson river between the other low-rise buildings. Sayid's home was in the building run by his father, who lived with Sayid's mother in the basement unit. They were hard-working people. Kind people. And they cared a great deal about their only son.

Sayid's mother, Aidah Nassar was a woman who spoke her mind, Elphaba quickly learned. When Elphaba had shown up at Sayid's apartment with her handful of belongings, Aidah had looked her up and down and sniffed. And Sayid had hugged her and assured her that his green-skinned roommate was harmless. So Elphaba had tried her best over the next six weeks to be just that. Harmless. She washed dishes and cleaned the apartment. She was polite and she kept to herself. She spent a lot of time on the roof, staring at the stars and trying to find her place in the cosmos. It was such a fanciful thing to do, but Elphaba was more of a dreamer than her bookverse counterpart.

Aidah had slowly come to tolerate her, even to include her. She allowed Elphaba to help her clean the vacant apartments for new tenants, and Aidah recognized that her verdant co-worker would put in an honest day's work without complaining. Elphaba was thorough and efficient. She was honest and careful, and those qualities slowly won over Sayid's very protective mother. So they found a nice balance with each other. Aidah started to show her dry humor, and Elphaba talked a little about herself. Aidah would make dinner in Sayid's apartment and chastise him for never cooking for his female roommate.

Roommate. That's what she called herself. That's how they identified each other, Elphaba and Sayid. The Nassars were starting to feel like the beginnings of family to Elphaba, which was something altogether foreign to her. But it was nice. Perhaps that was why she refused to acknowledge the longing she occasionally saw when Sayid looked at her. Elphaba needed a family. She needed to trust and know that people would be there for her, and romance seemed so very…adult. She still felt like a child, sometimes. At nineteen, she was still a teenager. She would watch Sayid loading his bread truck in the mornings, with his defined arms lifting the heavy pallets and forming a sheen of sweat on his body. His skin was very bronze in the morning light, with his hair curling and falling into his eyes. He was never well-groomed, but always slightly unshaven. His would put on his uniform shirt only after loading the truck, preferring an un-tucked tank top that did not hide the strength of his body. At twenty-four, Sayid was a man in every way, and that scared Elphaba a little. She couldn't say exactly why, but she was more comfortable with knowing him as a brother who would protect her. She was afraid of being anyone's lover, afraid of what it meant, and of her own feelings.

So they were family, or at least becoming family. Elphaba felt at peace in the place she called home, but she felt utterly disgusted with the rest of her life. Her career ambitions were much the opposite of her romantic ones. She felt like a little girl jumping around saying, "Look at me! Look at me!" while the adults around her laughed and pandered to her. She wanted to be taken seriously. More and more, she wanted to sing. Elphaba was discovering how very much she loved singing. She couldn't exactly describe it, but she felt _right_ when she was singing. She felt full and complete. And she wanted to share that with a world that seemed very much to want the opposite. The musical theater community wanted her to shut up.

"And how was today?"

Aidah turned off the vacuum as they entered Sayid's apartment. She was cleaning, because she spoiled him that way. Her black and silver hair was wrapped in a handkerchief on her head. Her olive skin was cut through with lines that were not unflattering. Her features were strong, angular, and still beautiful. She was slender, but softened with age. She wore button down shirts and pants that were too short. She was "Granny" to the children of her two daughters, who lived outside of the city. Her voice still carried the clipped accent of her homeland, but that and her recipes were all that remained of her Saudi heritage. Aidah had taken much grief for being so "Americanized", and for allowing her daughters to marry American men. But to Aidah, who had seen violence in two countries, life was better when people embraced each other. So Aidah kept her heart open. She listened more than she spoke, but spoke when she had something to say. And if she asked a question, she cared.

So Elphaba flopped down on the sofa, pushed her hoodie back and said, "Awful".

"She sang about three words this time," Sayid offered.

Elphaba tried to straighten her mussed hair, "They told me not to waste their time, and that makeup is not appropriate in an audition."

Aidah snorted, "Didn't that first girl get the part by wearing makeup? The wicked girl?"

Elphaba raised an eyebrow, "Idina? That was eye shadow. I'm pretty sure if she showed up in full-body, green makeup she would not be selling CDs and staring in TV shows right now."

"Ultimately, it's about whether you can sing. That's what should matter," Sayid offered.

"Well, 'should' is the operative word," Elphaba snarked.

Aidah acted as though she were quite literally shooing the critics away, saying, "They don't know what they're missing."

Elphaba just sighed.

"You have another audition tomorrow. You know what Dory says, 'just keeping swimming…'" Sayid offered.

Elphaba gave him a withering look, "Did you just quote a cartoon fish to me?"

Sayid shrugged, "I have nieces and nephews. They visit. Disney influences me."

Elphaba threw a pillow at him.

Looking at a piece of paper stuck to the fridge, Sayid stated, "The thing tomorrow is off, off…off Broadway. Some sort of musical satire. Maybe they can use you?"

"You mean maybe they're desperate enough to use me," Elphaba rolled her eyes.

Aidah wrapped up the vacuum cord then, and announced, "No more complaining. I have dinner in my oven and someone has to eat it. We worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Let's go."

And they did, because it sounded better than soup, and no one disobeyed Aidah Nassar.

* * *

"So, it's a tattoo?"

Taking a shaking breath, Elphaba said, "Yes. Full-body."

"And you chose to do this to yourself? At what…nineteen?" the man referenced her paperwork.

Elphaba nodded, "Yes. I'm a big fan."

"Clearly."

The man addressing her was Martin Schuster, the casting director, director, and producer of _To Hell With Broadway_, one of the worst musicals Elphaba had ever read. Or, at least, read part of. She was standing in a tiny theater so far off of Broadway that people stopped speaking English four blocks over. Not that the neighborhood was bad, or the culture wasn't interesting, but this was not a theater-oriented neighborhood. Still, she told herself, _Rent_ started off-Broadway. So Elphaba answered the questions, if only because this very stereotypical director had allowed her to sing a whole song.

"I'll be honest with you. I think you're crazy. You'll never be castable in other roles, but I have something I want to use you for. I'm assuming you're not Equity yet. This job pays cash," Martin explained, giving her a hard look.

"Okay…" Elphaba agreed.

"And I don't really care what your name is, because we can't afford Playbills. We'll pretend Elphaba really is your name because then I won't have to learn something else."

Elphaba wanted to snap back at him, but she just nodded.

"So I'll see you Monday," Martin handed her a rehearsal schedule, a script and her music.

And she was dismissed.

* * *

"You got it?" Sayid was asking later that night, once he'd finished work.

Elphaba nodded once again.

"So you're going to be singing? On a stage?" he went on.

"Yep," Elphaba confirmed, "in one of the worst plays ever written."

Sayid grinned, "It's still work. It's something. And one thing always leads to another."

"Perhaps. Or it could lead only to my humiliation."

"Don't be so negative," he chided her, "You don't know where something's going to go until you try it."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, "And you've done so many adventurous things in your life?"

He looked wounded, and said, "Hey, getting out of this neighborhood was an adventure, for me. I've got my own struggles. But I think I know what I want, and I work for it. I want to own my own business. I never want to wear a suit to work. I want to be accepted, but not lose who I am. It's not about how big your goals are. It's about whether they're right for you."

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean what I want is more important. It just seems so…unattainable," Elphaba conceded.

"At least you know what you want. You didn't know what you wanted a few months ago," Sayid stated.

"True. But I think knowing might make it more frustrating," Elphaba admitted.

Sayid sat down next her on the couch. Putting his arm around her he said, "So, right now, you do this. Just like I do what I do. I drive a bread truck because it's one step toward my goal. You go star in the worst musical ever until a better one comes along."

She leaned against his shoulder and said, "Why do you always have to make so much sense?"

Sayid kissed the top of her head in a very platonic way and said, "It's a gift."

Elphaba felt better. She felt safe. Sayid made her feel like she could be brave. Leaning against his body, she took in his usual scent, made up of pine-scented soap, fresh bread, and sweat. He was the first person who'd ever invested in her as a person. He was the first person to really care, and to want better for her. And for that, she could almost say she loved him.

After a moment, Sayid stood up rather abruptly. Reaching into his jacket, which he'd hung up near the door, he produced something. With a smile, he said, "I almost forgot. Look what I got for you. Or us."

Elphaba took the papers from his outstretched hand. Sitting on her knees and leaning over the back of the couch, she realized what she was holding.

"Tickets? To _Wicked_?" she gasped.

Sayid nodded, smiling.

Elphaba felt a rush within herself. She hadn't realized how much she wanted to go back until just now. With a squeal, she jumped off the couch. Rushing Sayid, she wrapped him in a fierce hug.

"Thank you!" she squeaked.

With her still attached to him, he said, "I've only been once. I took my sister. But lately I've become much more interested…"

Elphaba looked up at him and rolled her eyes again. Then she hugged him again, because she was so happy.

In her joy, she didn't notice how Sayid held her a little longer than was necessary. She didn't notice how he took in the scent of her hair, and how he closed his eyes to savor the moment as though her happiness were the very air he breathed. She didn't see the longing in his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, this story is just pouring out of me. Sometimes, it happens like that. I also think this is coming out more in a series of vignettes, as opposed to a perfectly linear story. But I'm okay with that. It's moving forward. **

**I could also use some feedback. Let me know if you're confused, or your thoughts. I'm feeling needy. I suppose that happens sometimes, too. But I will write regardless, because I have to write when a story wants to get out. I'm just that way. :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"I need you to completely get rid of the accent!"

Elphaba heaved a sigh. She was standing on stage in the tiny theater while Martin Schuster yelled corrections at her. His voice only had one volume. Loud. And he tended to just call her "green girl". His current tirade was about her thick, south London accent.

"This show is a satire of _American_ musicals. It's about Broadway. You can't sound like a Brit," he went on.

"I will absolutely work on it," Elphaba promised, although she made the promise in her heavy dialect.

She had been in rehearsals for three weeks now, and the show was coming together. That was all Elphaba could say about it. It was coming together. Into something that would give critics fodder for years to come.

Essentially, Martin Schuster's good friend Eddie, who liked to be called Edward, had written a very terrible script about how Broadway panders to stereotypes and scenarios that have no depth and are repetitive. And while there might be some truth in the idea that whatever is popular with the masses sells, Elphaba did not think the Great White Way deserved this writer's heavy-handed derision. Then, Eddie's good friend Sylvester had sat down at what Elphaba assumed must be his Dell laptop and his Casio keyboard, and typed out one of the worst scores in the history of time. It was painful to learn, and to sing. Still, Elphaba stayed late and arrived early to have the pianist play through it with her, because Elphaba had never learned to read music.

She was playing a satire of Elphaba, the character, and her song made fun of the idea that most characters who make transformations from ugly to attractive were never all that ugly to begin with. Her scenes also made fun of the need for lead characters to belt constantly and sing songs about their wants. Her song, therefore, contained much belting. And until this, Elphaba hadn't known what it meant to belt anything. She relied on the rehearsal pianist to teach her, to give her a crash course in music education, and to hopefully keep her from making an ass of herself. If that was possible in such a ridiculous production.

Later that night, she made her annoyances known to Sayid and his parents as they sat around the table in Aidah and Bahir's apartment.

"I just don't understand why these people hate musicals so much! What's wrong with giving people a little fluff and making them feel good? What's wrong with heartwarming? And there are also plenty of shows that make people really think. I think there's a good variety out there. And the character Elphaba is not oversimplified. It's not an easy thing to take a character who's been hated for this long and make people love her. That's creative brilliance, I think."

Sayid was watching her with a smile in his eyes that was trying to reach his lips.

Aidah spoke first, however, saying, "You can only do your best. If you do good, good will come to you. Just wait and see."

"I really want to believe that," Elphaba sighed.

"How much more rehearsal do you have?" Aidah asked.

"Three weeks," Elphaba answered, "But I only have ninety more days to show that I should be allowed to stay in the country. I got the date extended by applying for a work visa, but it would sure help to have someone saying how valuable I am, and how much they need me and my 'special skill."

"And this is the only way you can stay?" Aidah confirmed.

"Yes," Elphaba said, "I can't stay here forever on a tourist visa. I would have to go back and spend some time in London. And there's just nothing there for me…"

"Or," Sayid chimed in, "you could marry an American."

Elphaba looked at him, grinning, and wasn't sure what to say. She knew he couldn't be very serious, but she still didn't want to hurt his feelings by snapping at him too harshly. Surely he knew she wasn't old enough to get married. Marriage was huge. Marriage was forever. And marriage meant sex, and Elphaba was still afraid of that in every way.

As if he could read her thoughts, Sayid added, "It would be just a marriage on paper. To keep you here. You could date whoever you want."

"And so you could you," Elphaba teased him in return.

Sayid didn't respond, and his father gave him a knowing look. Elphaba didn't notice however, as she went back to lamenting her rehearsal.

* * *

Two weeks later, just before Elphaba was to start her tech week with _To Hell with Broadway_, the weather finally turned warm. After weeks of cold gusts whipping between the buildings, forcing them to wrap themselves in jackets every morning, the early-April air was calm and spring-like.

Sayid, who hated the confines of his collared work shirt, welcomed the change. It gave him more reason to shed the uniform as soon as he arrived at home. On that Friday, he entered his apartment and went to his room to quickly change his work clothes. Pulling on a pair of shorts and t-shirt, he went in search of Elphaba. After a few minutes, he started to worry because it was an hour past when she said she'd be home and the apartment and balcony were empty. Then, he remembered her favorite place. Leaving the apartment, Sayid walked down the hall and up the stairs to the roof. When he opened the door onto the deck, he saw her. He saw her and he stopped, breathless.

Elphaba was laid out on one of the old lounge chairs, taking advantage of the full, streaming sunlight. She wore only a pair of shorts that showed her slender legs, and a tank top that revealed more of her skin than he'd ever seen. On one hand, it was shocking to see the obvious, that she was in fact entirely green. Until now, he'd only seen her hands and face. Today, however, one bare arm was laid beside her, the other splayed above her head. Her abdomen was smooth and shapely, and her breasts were fuller than he'd realized. She was not quite the tall, lanky girl described in Maguire's book, he thought.

As soon as he thought it, he chastised himself. Sayid made himself look at her face, and how her eyelashes were so delicate on her cheeks. Her cheekbones were high and her nose straight, as though she were part fictional character, part gypsy. She was an anomaly when it came to words for beauty. Then, he looked at her hair, which fell in long waves off the chair. It wasn't quite black, but was more dark chocolate, with ribbons of auburn that revealed themselves in the light. Sayid stared at her for a long time, just watching her enjoy the sun, until she finally stirred.

When she glanced over and saw him, she sat up suddenly. Then, she chuckled, saying, "Sorry. I thought you might be another tenant, and the sight of me like this would certainly terrify them."

Sayid pretended to agree, but the sight of her had done anything but terrify him.

* * *

Three weeks later, Sayid and his parents attending the opening of what they could all now officially say was the worst musical they'd ever seen. Still, Sayid watched in rapt attention as Elphaba sang. She'd gotten better, he realized, and he hadn't known that was possible. She sounded more polished, more sure of herself than she had on the day they'd met. She was starting to sound like a professional, he thought.

At intermission, just after Elphaba's song, Sayid noticed the woman next to him taking notes. She wore a slight smile, and he wondered if she was some sort of critic or reporter.

Turning toward her when the lights came up, he introduced himself, saying, "Sayid Nassar. I'm here for the green girl."

The woman nodded, saying, "Bridget Somers. And she's good. Maybe too good for his show."

Sayid smiled broadly, "I think so, too."

Bridget cocked her head and replied, "But I see a dozen girls as good as her every day."

Sayid's smile faded.

"The makeup is good, though. I'm surprised a place like this did that well," Bridget admired.

Sayid gathered his courage and asked, "Do you think she's good enough to do more than this? Honestly?"

Bridget considered question, then said, "Like I said, she's good. But every singer who wants to do the big shows, who wants to be a star, has to have something that sets her apart. Just being a great singer is not enough. You have to have something that makes you unforgettable. In fact, I think you either have it or you don't. It can't be taught."

Sayid nodded, and asked, "Would you remember her?"

"If she wasn't painted green? Probably not."

Sayid felt crushed. He wasn't even sure who he was talking to. He had no idea if Bridget was a producer of multi-million dollar shows or an Avon salesperson. Still, the fact that she'd been taking notes made him believe she had connections, somehow. She had some sort of potential to make Elphaba's dream come true, and now he felt like that dream had been crushed a little.

They sat through the rest of intermission in silence, with Sayid lost in his thoughts and Bridget scribbling in her notebook. Finally, just before the lights were to go down to start what promised to be a painful Act Two, Sayid found the courage to speak again.

Before he could think too hard about his words, he leaned in toward Bridget and said, "You know, she does have something no one else has. That's not makeup. She really is green."

Bridget looked at him as though he'd grown another head. Sayid held her gaze and nodded, to show he was absolutely serious.

"If you have anything to do with helping her star in a legitimate musical, I'll introduce you, and prove it," Sayid added.

Bridget held his gaze as the lights went down, but she said nothing else.

* * *

The next day, as a celebration of her show opening, Sayid and Elphaba were to use their tickets to see _Wicked_. Sayid felt like a teenage boy getting ready for the prom. In reality, he'd spent his own prom acting like an idiot with a bunch of his guy friends, but this is how he imagined it would've felt if he'd had a sweetheart to ask to the prom. He had taken the time to iron his clothes, which was a feat considering he'd had to go out and buy an iron. He was itching to get ready long before it made sense, so he tried to distract himself by playing phones games on the balcony.

Elphaba, on the other hand, was not at all ready. She was sitting on the couch with papers spread all over the small coffee table. Every few minutes she groaned in frustration. Eventually, Sayid came in from the balcony and leaned against the doorway that led to the tiny kitchen.

Sympathetically, he asked, "Is it not going well?"

Elphaba looked up and gave him an exhausted look, "No. I cannot find any legitimate way to stay beyond ninety days if I'm not granted a work visa. I think I could qualify for one, but they may want me to go back to London for six months and then reapply, because I overstayed my tourist visa this time. The only thing that could surely keep me here is to be considered someone with a 'special skill'."

"Like starring in a musical?" Sayid asked.

"That would be one way, yes," Elphaba grumbled, "but that pretty much isn't going to happen."

"It still could," Sayid tried to be cheerful.

"Stop being so optimistic. It's annoying and unrealistic," Elphaba snapped.

Sayid couldn't hide that she'd hurt his feelings.

Sighing, Elphaba said, "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I just really don't want to get sent back to London. I just don't feel like I'm done here."

Sayid softened. Watching her sitting there with her hair in a messy knot on her head and her lips pursed in frustration, he very much didn't want her to be sent back to London either.

Shrugging, he tried to lighten the mood by saying, "I know I've said it before, but there's always marriage…"

Elphaba gave him another withering look.

"I'm just joking. But it would work, right? And it would be better than going back, if you don't want to," Sayid offered.

Elphaba sighed and said, "Yes, it would work. But that's not fair to you. You can't marry someone you've known for six months. And I can't ask you to sacrifice your life for me like that."

There was a quiet moment, and then Sayid asked quietly, "What if I want to?"

Elphaba looked at him carefully. He watched her search his face. She said nothing, though. Instead, she jumped up and headed to the bathroom.

"I should get ready now," she threw from behind the closed door.

* * *

Later that evening, they were finally seated together in the Gershwin Theater. Sayid had splurged and bought them tickets in the center orchestra. And Elphaba had conceded to Aidah and put on a dress. Granted, it was a long sleeved dress that flowed to her ankles, but it fit her slender body nicely. The rich black fabric, paired with her black boots, made Elphaba look very much the part of Elphaba-the-Witch. As people sat down around them, they gasped at what they thought, once again, must be a masterful costume. Elphaba slid down lower in her seat, but Sayid was of proud of her. This time, when people asked questions, he answered.

"What a wonderful job on the green," someone stated.

"She's something of an amateur makeup artist," Sayid fibbed.

"You look amazing," someone else threw out.

"I think so, too," Sayid agreed.

Elphaba was grateful, because all she had to do was smile. However, her struggle was not the only thing on her mind this time. For the first time, she was seeing his.

She and Sayid spent most of their time together at home, or at the few restaurants within walking distance of his apartment. Elphaba preferred not to venture out much, because once people got used to seeing her, they tended to ignore her. Tonight, however, they were in a crowd of hundreds of people. They were in a very public place with people who could afford hundred-dollar theater tickets. And they were in the center of Manhattan. And whereas people tended to compliment Elphaba's "costume", they did not compliment Sayid.

Tonight, he had dressed up in a button-down shirt and dress pants, with new shoes. He was mostly shaven, or at least groomed, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Still, at six-foot-one, he was a tall, imposing, Arabic man and, for the first time, Elphaba saw him through the eyes of others. She saw their reactions. It wasn't an overt hostility, or even a reaction from the entire crowd, but Elphaba saw people study him as though they might need to pick him out a lineup later. She saw security come to attention and watch him walk through the lobby. She saw the women sitting a few seats over whisper and look fearful. And for once, Elphaba didn't feel like the immediate center of attention. It was unnerving and disheartening, and Elphaba felt for him. She understood why he introduced himself as "Sam".

So, as they waited for the show to start, Elphaba leaned closer to him and said, "I think I finally understand what you meant, about being too 'brown'."

Sayid met her eyes and gave her a little smile, "I guess that's something we have in common. Being the wrong color."

Elphaba smiled in return, and she appreciated the sentiment. It was another connection that she had with Sayid and his family that made her feel like she belonged. She felt as though they'd walked some of the same roads, metaphorically. Like an older brother, she felt like he simply understood and would protect her.

Just then, the orchestra came to life and the theater went dark. Together, they were taken on the journey into Oz once again.

* * *

A few short hours later, they were sitting in a little café near Sayid's apartment drinking coffee. The place was empty, and the owner was on Sayid's work route, so he let them stay past closing while the cooks washed up.

"So…was it as good as the first time?" Sayid asked her.

He had untucked his shirt and leaned back in the chair, with his feet propped on another chair a few feet away.

Elphaba sat stirring her coffee, thinking. After a minute, she said, "Yes. I know it's so trite of me to say this, but I'm captivated. It's like I know her, Elphaba, but she's a bigger, stronger, more driven, more…powerful version of me."

"I can see that," Sayid agreed, "But they got you exactly, a few times. I think you've actually said some of those lines to me. And not because you heard them at the show."

Elphaba swatted him playfully, and said, "I haven't gone quite as crazy as her, yet."

"Not yet," Sayid teased.

"So, what about you?" she asked, "Can you relate? Maybe to Fiyero?"

Sayid took a sip of coffee, because there was only one way he could relate to Fiyero-the-hero-of-Wicked, and he was absolutely not going to tell her.

Instead, he said, "Not so much."

"Why?" she asked.

Sayid thought about it, "He's so…perfect. I mean, I get why. He seems so obvious for Galinda. He's a dashing, hero type. So when he chooses Elphaba, it shocks her, and the audience. That's the point."

"Thank you for your deep analysis, Mr. Nassar," Elphaba snipped with a smirk.

"And there's the sarcasm I referred to earlier," Sayid snapped back with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes and kicked his feet off the chair.

Another quiet moment passed, until Elphaba softly spoke up again, "I love watching it. But not because I see myself saving Oz. It's because…I want so badly to sing it. I want to be up there. And I don't think it's just because I'm…green. I think I would feel this way even if I was a normal color. And it's funny, because feeling this way makes me exactly the same as thousands of other girls. Wanting this kind of makes me feel...normal."

Truthfully, Sayid said, "I wish I could make it happen for you."

"Thanks," Elphaba smiled, then went on, "I wanted to tell you…I meant what I said earlier, about being too 'brown'. I understand why you call yourself 'Sam' I see the way people look at you."

Sayid looked away for a moment, then said, "I guess, in big Broadway musicals, and in people's minds, there's not a lot of heroes like me."

Elphaba was thoughtful for a moment, and then she spoke up again, "You know, in the book, Fiyero is entirely different. He's dark-skinned. And he's a prince. Now that I think about it, I could almost picture you when Maguire describes him."

And it pained Sayid to hear her say it with such innocence, without realizing in the least what she was saying.

* * *

The next morning, Elphaba was curled up on the sofa with her very worn copy of _Wicked_, entirely engrossed in a book she'd read more times than she could count. Something about seeing the show again, and talking with Sayid, had made her want to read it again. She was so engrossed that she didn't hear Aidah enter until she was standing over her.

"Good book?" Aidah asked.

Elphaba jumped, and then smiled as she came back to reality, saying, "Yes. Sorry."

"It's okay. It's good to have books like that. What is it?" Aidah asked.

Sheepishly, Elphaba showed her the cover.

"Well, I would've thought you'd already read that," Aidah commented.

"I have," Elphaba admitted, "But I go back to it sometimes. And I don't know exactly why. It's like I'm looking for something. Like…this book is eventually going to tell me who I am. _Why_ I am."

Aidah leaned on the back of the couch and thought for a moment, then said, "Even if it did, do you think you'd be satisfied with the answer?"

Elphaba cocked her head, because she'd never considered that. She wondered, for the first time, if she discovered that she was actually Elphaba Of Oz, and that it was her destiny to return and save the Animals, would she want to? Would being given a purpose be more satisfying than finding one of her own? It was a deeper thought than she'd had in a while, and Elphaba didn't have words to answer.

Aidah crossed and sat down next to her on the couch. She took a breath and offered, "If you want to know why you are green, I would think science could tell you that. If you want to know who your parents were, I'm sure that London can tell you that. But knowing where you came from does determine where you are going. You have to choose that."

Elphaba studied her, and said, "That makes a lot of sense..."

There was a quiet moment, then.

"You know, my son cares a great deal for you," Aidah eventually stated.

"I know," Elphaba replied, "And I'm so grateful to have all of you as family. I didn't grow up with any kind of mom or dad, or brothers or sisters. It's…nice."

"The greatest of all things is love," Aidah mused, "For it takes love to find purpose."

Elphaba smiled at her, because she had such wisdom.

Aidah watched Elphaba go back to the book and said no more, because although she saw the way her son looked at Elphaba, it was not her place to interfere.

* * *

Later that night, as Sayid lay in bed, he heard soft footsteps on the floor. When he looked up, Elphaba was standing next to his bed in the shadows.

She looked at him apologetically, and said, "I can't sleep out there tonight. That spring in the couch is unbearable. We have to fix that."

Sayid sat up and said, "I bet you wish you hadn't insisted on me keeping the bed now, don't you?"

Elphaba rolled her eyes at him.

"Can I sleep here? Would that be awkward?" she asked.

"Sure. It's fine. I'll take the awful couch," Sayid offered.

Elphaba crawled into the bed and curled under the covers, saying, "No. Stay. It's a big enough bed. And if you were going to rape and kill me, I'm sure you would've done it by now."

Sayid tried to laugh. He lay back down next to her and listened as her breathing became even.

He couldn't say exactly what it was about this girl he'd known just a few months that was able to affect him so strongly. For the first few months, he'd barely spoken to her as he watched her washing dishes. But love, or at least desire, he realized, was strange that way. It could toy with the heart, making one a slave in its fiery grip. Love could hold one prisoner, creating a want so strong it drove men mad. Sayid's father had told him these things, and he'd witnessed friends wrestling in the grip of desire, but Sayid had yet to be this taken. He'd had a few flings to satisfy youthful lust, but this feeling burned not just between his legs, but in his heart. And that made it all the more painful.

He wanted Elphaba. He wanted to hold her, to protect her, and to make love to her. Now, in this moment, that want was stronger than it had ever been. He could feel the heat from her, even though he didn't dare touch her. Just being this close was setting his body on fire. Then, for just a moment, he lost control of his thoughts. As the sweet scent of her hair overcame him again, he suddenly saw himself pulling her into him and kissing her. He saw them shedding their clothes, and he imagined the feel of her skin on his as he made love to her.

Sayid jerked himself back to reality, realizing his body was uncomfortably aroused at just the brief imagining. He sat up in bed and turned away from her, placing his feet on the ground. Rubbing his eyes, Sayid tried to calm his racing heart. She was driving him mad. This feeling was threatening to eat him up and tear him apart. Every moment of his day, every thought and every action, led him back to her. She was there at his table, laughing. She was on his couch, reading and winding her hair around her fingers. She was behind his bathroom door, in his shower. And now she was in his bed. Sayid was tormented, and he wondered why he'd ever thought letting her live with him would be a good idea.

_Because you thought she would fall immediately in love with you, _he thought.

Now, he realized how mistaken he had been. But he couldn't turn her out. He cared too much for her, and he knew she was terribly attached to him, in a very different way.

_She trusts you. She trusts you enough to crawl in your bed. She sees you like a brother. You have to stop this, _he told himself.

Still, the images chased him.

Sayid took a pillow and moved to the offensive couch, because he simply couldn't sleep with her in his bed.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, as Elphaba continued to perform her role in _To Hell with Broadway,_ a woman sat silently in the audience every few evenings, watching. She watched, and considered the green girl who sang with clarity and purpose. She remembered the words of the dark-skinned man who might've been her boyfriend or brother, and she watched. Bridget Somers watched Elphaba, deciding if she was worth the risk.


	5. Chapter 5

**More for you. :-)**

**Note...I am horrible with typos. Grammatically, I'm usually pretty solid, but I can leave out a word or type all kinds of garbage like a champion. So please don't feel bad about telling me if you find them. I want to fix them.**

**Also, if you want an idea of who I see as Sayid, google Sayid from Lost. If you want. For fun.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

At some point during the first thee weeks of Elphaba's run in _To Hell with Broadway,_ the early-June weather turned warm for the first time. Sayid was laid across the couch in his apartment, the couch that he'd finally replaced after the spring came through the cushion, wishing the air conditioning would do a better job. Elphaba was at her show and wasn't due home for a few hours. Normally, Sayid tried to get some sleep before waking up to make sure she'd come home safely. Checking on her was something he felt compelled to do, since she had to take two trains to get home.

This evening, however, sleep would not come. He was restless and wide awake. As he flipped through the channels on the television again, his phone started buzzing. Picking it up, he checked the texts. He felt something twist inside of him as he read:

_Hey. Wanna hook up tonight? No work for me tomorrow._

It was from Sasha, a girl he'd known since high school. They'd dated briefly, but she wasn't one for commitment. Since then, they slept together off and on without really expecting anything from each other. He'd always thought it was a pretty great arrangement. He'd even thought of himself as lucky a few times. Now, however, he was torn.

He stared at the phone for a long time, and something occurred to him. He wondered if maybe the answer to his current struggle was as simple as this. Maybe he was lusting after Elphaba because he just needed to get laid. Maybe his feelings would dissipate and he could focus on her friendship if he took care of the physical need.

He'd put off Sasha a few times since Elphaba had come to stay with him, since Elphaba was usually at home in the evenings. Now, however, he was alone. The idea of sleeping with Sasha wasn't as appealing at it had once been, but it seemed better than driving himself mad over someone he couldn't have. So he stared at his phone, wondering that he should do.

_Well?_ Sasha texted again.

After another moment, Sayid decided not to belabor the decision. He fired off a text, typing:

_Sure. Come on over._

And he waited.

Thirty minutes later, Sasha was at his door. She was the same as he remembered. Her hair was two-tone blonde and brown, her pants were tight and her heels were high. She was Russian, by ancestry, and her last name was something he'd never learned to say correctly. Still, they'd always been comfortable with one another.

Sayid decided not think. If this is what it would take to get Elphaba out of his head, then he was going with it before he could change his mind. So he pulled Sasha into a rough kiss and they stumbled to the bedroom. Sasha put on a good show, and Sayid let his normal drive take over for a while. However, when she finally had him pinned to the bed, he found he had to close his eyes. The only way he could manage to finish what they'd started was to picture Elphaba. He shut his eyes and pretended it was her, because he didn't want Sasha to know she wasn't enough anymore.

When it was over, complete but not very satisfying, Sayid lay there while Sasha talked and drank all the wine in the apartment. She talked incessantly, and he tried to listen. All he could hear, however, were his thoughts telling him that this did not work.

He finally fell asleep, not realizing that before Sasha left, Elphaba returned from her show. She ran into Sasha in the living room. And Sasha made no effort to disguise her reason for being there. She paraded around in one of Sayid's shirts, still talking nonstop. After polishing off the wine, Sasha retrieved her own clothes and went home, leaving Elphaba and Sayid alone again, with a noticeable shift in their reality.

* * *

The next morning, Sayid pulled himself awake. It was Saturday, so there was no work, but he couldn't sleep anymore. His body was used to waking up early. Elphaba, on the other hand, was still asleep on the couch. Pulling on a pair of flannel pants, Sayid went quietly to the kitchen, hoping not to disturb her still form. After getting some coffee, however, he sat down in the chair across from her and just watched her sleep.

Physically, he should be satisfied. If he was just lusting, it should be gone. Instead, however, he couldn't tear his eyes away from how her hair was tangled around her shoulders. He was drawn to how she was sleeping with her mouth slightly open. His feelings weren't dampened in the least, and he felt horrendous guilt, even though there was no attachment to keep him from doing whatever he wanted.

_At least she doesn't have to know, _he thought.

Just then, she stirred. As if she could sense his presence, Elphaba shifted on the couch and slowly opened her eyes.

"Hey?" she finally said in confusion.

Sayid chastised himself silently, because staring at someone sleeping was kind of a creepy thing to do.

"Sorry Elle," he apologized, "I just happened to sit here…"

He hoped she believed the lie. He'd started calling her "Elle" somewhere along the way. It might've been because "Elphaba" was so formal, or because it was such an unusual name, but he'd unconsciously nicknamed her at some point. And she had not protested.

Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sleepily said, "I'm sorry I came in last night on your…date."

Sayid felt something twist inside of him.

"It's ok. It's your home, after all. It's got to be hard having someone sleeping on your couch," Elphaba went on.

"No, I'm still glad you're here," Sayid argued awkwardly.

"Maybe," Elphaba struggled with the words, "you could…what do people usually do? Put socks on the door? Is that it?"

Sayid felt nauseous suddenly. He wanted to be having any conversation other than this one.

"It was a one time thing," he offered, "It won't happen again."

Elphaba looked at him with wide eyes, and said, "I don't expect you to stop living your life, Sayid."

"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable," he nearly whispered.

Elphaba looked at her hands for a moment, and said, "You know, before…before the day we first really talked, on the roof. I'd never…I mean that kiss was…"

Sayid watched her flush and struggle. He was so angry with himself. As a fact, he supposed he'd known she'd never slept with anyone, but he had no idea that kiss was her first kiss. It made him feel all the more like he'd betrayed her trust. And he was angry at himself for being selfish.

"I just…don't have any…experience with stuff like this, so I hadn't really thought about this…situation. So just tell me when to stay away, and I will," Elphaba stammered.

Wishing so badly he could take back the previous night, Sayid said, "It's fine, Elle. It won't happen again."

Rising from the couch and giving him an awkward smile, she said, "Ok. But if it does…it's fine."

When she was gone, Sayid dropped his face in his hands and continued to berate himself silently.

* * *

That evening, Elphaba was glad, for once, to be out of the apartment. Sayid had been quiet and moody all day, and she wondered if he'd had some sort of fight with the girl he'd obviously slept with. She wondered if they were serious, and found she hoped they weren't. She knew she had no claim over Sayid, but it was nice having someone constantly looking out for her. Still, she thought that people who had sex were supposed to be in a better mood. Clearly, in this situation, that was not the case.

So Elphaba left the apartment early and gave what she thought was a good performance at Worst Musical Ever, as they were calling it. After the show, she was sitting in her tiny hole of a dressing room taking off the makeup she wore for the show. It was hard to find cosmetics that didn't make her look strange, but she was happy with what she'd achieved. She had started removing her false eyelashes when there was a knock at the door. Elphaba turned to see a woman with ash-blonde hair and an expensive pantsuit standing in the doorway.

"May I come in?" the woman asked.

"Sure?" Elphaba hesitantly agreed.

The woman sat down in the one other chair, very close to Elphaba. Elphaba stopped what she was doing, and the blonde woman just stared at her for several minutes.

Eventually, Elphaba said, "Ummm?"

Holding out her hand, the woman said, "I'm Bridget Somers."

Elphaba shook her hand, and Bridget proceeded to stare at her for another long minute.

Just as Elphaba was thinking of calling for help, Bridget finally asked, "How long did it take you to tattoo your skin that way?"

"Ummm," Elphaba struggled, "Maybe six…teen months?"

Bridget raised an eyebrow, and said, "It looks wonderful. Can I see your hand?"

Elphaba slowly raised one hand. Bridget took it and spent another few minutes looking at her fingers.

Then, she spoke again, explaining, "I'm an agent. I work with some of the biggest names in musical theater. I check things out all the time, looking for anyone who might be a unique talent. I rarely find any, and quite frankly it's not your talent that got my attention. It's your color."

Elphaba felt her breath hitch.

"There's a tall man of some sort of ethnicity that I haven't bothered to discover who watches your show," Bridget went on, "He says that this color…is real. Is that true?"

Bridget was speaking very quietly and staring at her intently. She sensed that Bridget would get the truth out of a Russian spy if she had to.

Very, very quietly, Elphaba admitted, "Yes."

"You're telling me you were born this way?" Bridget went on.

"Yes."

"And would you be willing to let a doctor prove it?"

Elphaba felt another twinge of fear. She was quiet again.

Bridget looked at her, waiting. After a moment, she leaned in and said, "If you are, in fact, not just a great singer, but an actual green girl, I think there is a very definite chance that _Wicked_ might be interested. Someone like you…would be a publicity gemstone. And I'm going to be honest with you, finding that gemstone would be great for me."

Elphaba still stared at her.

"But you have to understand that it will have to be undeniably proven that you are green, and lying about it would destroy any career you might have," Bridget explained, "So I'll ask again…are you in fact a real green girl?"

Elphaba took a long, deep breath. Swallowing over her fear, she said again, "Yes."

"And will you let me prove it?"

"Yes."

And with that one admission, Elphaba's life would change forever.

* * *

She didn't tell Sayid right away. For some reason, Elphaba was afraid to discuss her conversation with Bridget. Perhaps she was waiting for the phone call she'd been promised to set up a complete physical exam and a battery of tests. A part of her wondered if Bridget might've just been part of a prank. But when she'd looked up Bridget Somers on the internet, the pictures and bio seemed to be legit. She seemed to be an actual agent, and an important one. Yet Elphaba was still afraid to tell Sayid, for fear of it all falling apart.

Things had also been somewhat strained between them lately, and she wasn't sure exactly why. She wondered if he might be getting tired of having to work his life around her. She wondered if he might be wanting his personal space back. Which was all the more reason, she felt, to take this opportunity. It would allow her to make her own life. But she was still afraid to say it out loud, lest the whole thing evaporate.

One afternoon, three days later, the phone call finally came. Bridget had set up an appointment to verify Elphaba's coloration.

"I'm also going to need several documents," Bridget explained, "including proof of your birth in London, with your birth name. And you need to know that talking about this potential contract with anyone before we complete all of this will mean _Wicked _walks away."

Slightly wounded, Elphaba said, "Okay…"

"Look," Bridget softened, "I'm just the messenger. It's what I do, and I do it well. I'm going to demand a lot from you, and I take no crap. But I'll take good care of you if you let me."

Elphaba took a breath and said, "Okay," with more conviction this time.

Once she'd gotten details from Bridget, Elphaba went inside for dinner.

At the table with Sayid and his parents again, she played with her food until she couldn't stand it any more. Finally, Elphaba blurted out, "An agent approached me at the show. She wants to prove that I'm green…for _Wicked._"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Is that the show? With the green girl?" Aidah asked.

Elphaba nodded.

"And this is something you want?" Aidah went on.

Elphaba nodded again.

"You see? If you make good, good comes to you," Aidah smiled softly.

Elphaba smiled, loving that Aidah had used the phrase "make good", without knowing its connection to the _Wicked _score.

Sayid was staring at her intently, however. When he finally spoke, he asked, "Are you sure this person is who she says she is? Do you want me to talk to her?"

Elphaba shook her head, slightly offended, "No. It's time I start taking control of my own life. I checked her out, and I think she means to do exactly as she says."

Sayid looked hurt, but he said nothing.

"And if I end up in a role as big as Elphaba, I'll be making money," Elphaba went on, "Maybe then I can afford my own place, and you won't have to put up with me anymore," she said with a little smile.

"I told you, I don't mine," Sayid said tightly.

Feeling bold, Elphaba teased him, "So you say. But what about the next time Sasha wants to come over?"

Aidah glanced from Elphaba to Sayid, her expression curious at the mention of Sasha's name. She seemed a little shocked at not knowing about what had transpired between her son and Sasha.

"Sasha…from school?" Aidah asked carefully.

Sayid ran a hand through his dark curls and answered, "Yeah. But I don't think we're seeing each other any more."

Aidah nodded, but studied her son as though she knew there was more to be said.

Elphaba started to talk about her conversation with Bridget again. After a moment, however, Sayid stood up and abruptly left the table. The others watched as he went out onto the balcony and leaned over the railing, pensive. Elphaba finished the brief version of her story and then excused herself as well.

Exiting out onto the balcony, she stood behind Sayid and said, "I'm sorry for teasing you about Sasha in front of your parents. I wasn't thinking."

He turned slightly and said, "It's fine. It's just, we're not serious. I don't want you to think I'm pursuing her, because…I'm not."

Hesitantly, Elphaba asked, "But you've known each other for a while?"

"Yeah," Sayid admitted, "I guess we're…friends. Sort of. We dated, and now we're…"

"Friends…with benefits?" Elphaba couldn't help smirking.

"I guess," he said softly.

Elphaba waited for a long moment, and then said, "I suppose we both should have known that living in a one-bedroom apartment was going to get troublesome, eventually. I'm sorry for making all this uncomfortable for you. I want you to stay in my life, always, but maybe it really will be better if I can find my own place?"

Sayid was still very quiet, and she could see the tension in his broad shoulders. Eventually, he simply said, "Maybe."

Elphaba left him then, deciding he might just want to be alone. She could tell something was wrong, but she wasn't sure what it was or how to fix it.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Elphaba was submitted to more tests, interviews, paperwork, and phone calls than she'd ever experienced in her life. Bridget escorted her everywhere, and she sensed that every person who was working to legitimize her was somehow sworn to secrecy until _Wicked_ made its decision. Elphaba herself had to sign legal documents agreeing not to discuss the possibility of her taking on the lead role until she was officially in contract with them. It was a little frightening, and altogether exhausting. Her physical exam was very thorough, and a little humiliating. She'd had to bare her whole body, although she had to admit that the doctor was very professional. He took skin and hair samples and swabbed her cheeks for DNA. Elphaba had no idea how they were going to put this together into conclusive proof of what made her green, but they surely had enough pieces of her to do so.

She also had to sign permission for people to retrieve her birth records. She had a copy, but this had to come from London, officially. Elphaba knew what was on her birth record, though. The only thing her parents had left her with was a tiny card that said, simply, _born on July 29__th__. _Her race was listed simply as, "other". The Important People, as she called them, were also giving her the help she needed in resolving her troubles with being in the country on the wrong kind of visa. She was now an asset that _Wicked_ wanted, and that meant they would petition for an expedited work visa. It was a greater relief than Elphaba could describe.

In the midst of all this, she also had several auditions with the Lords of Casting, as Elphaba had decided to refer to them. It was a habit of hers, to rename people who's titles she couldn't remember. In the first audition, she thought her stomach might eat itself out of her body. Bridget had found her a vocal coach to help her learn all the things most singers learned in years at conservatory. Yet even with training, Elphaba was still terrified. She knew they were looking at her with more skepticism than they'd had for any other candidate. She knew that being green, and proving it, was not enough. She had to sing like her life depended on it. So she did. Over and over, as different people demanded to see and critique her. She also noticed that her auditions took place at night, without anyone else present. She could only assume this was also part of the need to keep her existence quiet until they were ready for the media storm that was surely to come.

Elphaba had an idea of what might be ahead of her, if she was cast in this part. She was a little afraid, and a little excited. She knew that her life would change significantly, but change was welcome, she decided. She wanted to use the way she born for something good. Much like Elphaba-the-Character, she wanted to make good. So she channeled the way she felt into every time she had to sing "The Wizard and I", which was the audition song of choice. She imagined her "wizard" was the show itself, and that being on stage at the Gershwin was a good metaphor for the fictional Elphaba meeting the Wizard. The same way that the character began to embrace who she was when Madame Morrible called her power "talent", Elphaba was embracing the way she'd been born. She saw the people of _Wicked _as her "Morribles", and they'd seen her talent. There was a new lift in her chin. She stood taller. She spoke with more confidence, even when she was afraid. And she'd started introducing herself at each audition or meeting by saying, "I am Elphaba Thropp, and I _am_ the green girl."

Sayid was also seeing the changes in Elphaba. His "Elle", who had been in his apartment almost constantly for almost four months, was very often absent. She was less clingy. She needed less from him. She still called him and his parents family, and she shared everything with them, but she was losing the doe-eyed uncertainty. She was on the brink of no longer being "not that girl", and Sayid felt like he was losing her. He felt like he'd landed so squarely in the friend-zone that there was no hope of escape. He had propelled her to be something she never imagined she could be, but Sayid felt like he wouldn't be going with her on the journey. And so he was sullen, and he knew she sensed it. He knew it hurt her feelings when he didn't show as much joy as she felt. What she didn't understand, is that he couldn't bear it. The idea of her leaving him behind was starting to make him physically ill, and yet Sayid felt powerless to stop the changing tide in their lives.

* * *

Finally, in the middle of the thick heat of July, once Worst Musical Ever had mercifully closed, Elphaba got the phone call she'd been waiting for.

"Are you ready?" Bridget said over the line that Monday afternoon.

"Why?" Elphaba was hesitant.

"_Wicked_ wants you. They're going to bill you as your real name, Elphaba Thropp, and they're going to release the proof of you when they announce the cast change. And you have to know, the current standby is a touch disappointed."

Elphaba could understand that.

"Also," Bridget went on, "you're going to feel a bit like they own you. They're going be very specific in their requests of you. This is nothing they've ever dealt with before, you understand?"

"Yes," Elphaba said softly.

Bridget paused, then softened, "And it's going to go crazy. You know that, right? This is your last chance to say no, before you sign. Because when you do, and they break the story of you, your life is going be drastically different."

Elphaba took a deep breath and said, "I know."

"And it's my job to take care of you," Bridget added quickly.

"And I appreciate it," Elphaba replied.

"Ok. You'll be rehearsing with the production people all day that day. And the current Elphaba has agreed to help you. I was a little surprised, because she's not required to do that."

A little stunned, Elphaba asked, "Who?"

"Amy McLean," Bridget explained, "The actress who's turning the role over to you."

"Oh," was all Elphaba could find to say.

"Okay then," Bridget concluded, "you come in Wednesday. I'll send you the address of the rehearsal studio. They'll announce cast change the same day, so get ready."

Elphaba took a deep breath, not sure if she could possibly be ready.


	6. Chapter 6

**This might be unnecessary to say, but this Elphaba is definitely musicalverse. She's got that doe-eyed, Act 1 innocence, as opposed to bookverse Elphie, which I have tended to write in the past.**

**Also, if you haven't noticed, one idea of this story is to mirror the plot of the musical in an inexact way, but to keep with the main points. I've tried to hit on the idea of Elphaba being unwanted, and then leaving home to live in a new place that challenges her. I've tried to give her a moment when someone finally realizes she has a 'talent'. The show is something of her 'wizard', the thing she sees as fulfilling all her dreams. And she'll have her 'defying gravity' moment, of course. And other parallels will follow. Again, inexact, but still Elphaba's story.**

**Also, sorry for the update overload. I just have to get this story out or I'm going to lose it. :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

That Wednesday morning, Elphaba found herself standing in a rehearsal studio on the fourth floor of a building just a short walk from the Gershwin. It was large and airy, with various rehearsal props scattered throughout the room. They were like little pieces of Oz around her, hinting at the magic that was to come. The floor was criss-crossed with taped lines indicating set pieces and major blocking. It was an ordinary space that gave birth to the extraordinary.

Elphaba was dressed simply in black yoga pants and a black t-shirt that left her arms bare. She'd come in swathed in a jacket and hat, in spite of the heat, but she'd shed them once she was inside. It was still a new thing, to let people see her and not have to answer a thousand questions. She had her long hair in a braid over her shoulder, and she'd put on a pair of boots to feel more Elphaba-like. She wasn't sure if she was dressed to convince the powers-that-be, or herself that she was right for this. She stood, uncertain, waiting.

A few minutes later, a group of music and staging directors with more creative genius than Elphaba could ever hope to possess entered the room. She tried to remember their names, but the only one she could hang onto was Tom. The others she called Beanie-Hat, Clipboard, and Prima Ballerina. They were each responsible for molding one aspect of her into the Elphaba they wanted to see on stage. And since she had very little stage experience, she was sure they had a lot of work ahead of them.

They were all friendly for a few minutes, repeating their names so she could forget them again in her nervousness. Once the pleasantries were over, they began to add to the stack of papers she already had in her hands. She had the book, the score, rules, requirements, and now several contracts to sign.

Just as she was finishing signing away her life as she knew it, clicking footsteps raced into the room.

"I'm here!" someone called out cheerfully.

Elphaba looked up, and there stood Amy McLean. She was everything Elphaba remembered, and perhaps a little more beautiful.

Amy's shoulder-length blonde hair was brushed to a shine. Her eyes were wide and hazel, set on either side of a straight, perfect nose. Her lips had just a touch of pout. And she was tall, at about five-foot-seven, Elphaba guessed. She approached Elphaba with a wide smile, but her face took on a look of shock and wonder as she got closer.

They stood there, staring at each other, until Elphaba said, "I'm Elphaba."

Amy continued to stare in awe, and then something else registered in her face. She smiled broadly again and said, "It's you! The girl from the show a while back!"

Elphaba nodded sheepishly, saying, "It is me."

Amy stared at her some more, then said, "They told me it was shocking, but…wow. I'm looking at the real Elphaba."

"No," Elphaba said carefully, "you're looking at someone who happens to look like that character."

Amy cocked her head and said, "So you in no way think you are a witch or talk to animals?"

"No," Elphaba snapped.

"Still," Amy breathed, "I cannot believe you are real…"

"Sometimes," Elphaba turned to humor with a smirk, "neither can I."

Amy took her hand and perused it, as so many others had done. After a minute, she said, "I just feels like regular skin."

"Oh for mercy's sake! It _is_ just skin," Elphaba couldn't stop herself from snapping.

Amy pouted a little, "You know what I mean."

Elphaba softened again and gave her a little smile, saying, "Sorry. I just…get a lot of that."

Amy's expression turned to understanding.

"All right," Tom cut in, flipping through some papers, "let's get this started. We have a lot of work to do. Any questions?"

"Just one," Elphaba spoke up hesitantly, "do I need to sound like an American?"

Tom shook his head, "No. We've had plenty of actresses with accents. There was no need for Willemijn to remove all the Dutch or for Kerri to erase the British. Speak as you are, but I have to understand you."

Elphaba gave him a wide smile, relieved.

With that, she was put through the paces of the entirety of _Wicked._ She was given notes on blocking, choreography, and her vocal interpretation. For long hours, she was critiqued and corrected. It was daunting and frustrating at times, but there were moments when she caught glimpses of something breathtaking. When the pianist played the rolling chords of _The Wizard and _I, Elphaba felt a rush. From somewhere deep inside herself she drew up every hope she'd ever had for a future where people looked at her with wonder instead of shock and hesitation. With pure, soprano clarity, her voice rang out:

_Unlimited…_

_ My future is, unlimited…_

And the fanciful part of her believed it might be finally be true.

* * *

At four o'clock, when the rehearsal was done and Elphaba was gathering her things, Amy approached and asked, "Do you have plans now?"

Amy's voice had a bit of sultry gravel to it, although her inflection hinted more at her blonde locks than her vocal range.

Elphaba studied Amy, and then said, "Not really."

"Do you want to get some dinner?" Amy asked.

A little surprised, Elphaba stammered, "Ummm…sure?"

Amy gave a big smile and led the way.

A bit later, they were seated in a dark corner of a little café a few blocks over. The light was enough to mute Elphaba's color so that no one immediately noticed. She'd also pulled a knit hat low on her head and wrapped her hoodie jacket around herself. Elphaba devoured a sandwich while Amy asked questions.

"So you were really born this way?"

Elphaba nodded.

"Do you know why you're green? Medically?"

Elphaba swallowed and said, "I have a lot of test results from a lot of doctors at home. In a grand stack of papers. They say the explanations are in there, but I've yet to be able to understand it."

Amy looked concerned, "But don't you want to know?"

Elphaba cocked her head, "I do know, basically. Something in the pigment of my skin makes me green. Something caused it to be that way. All the doctors did was prove _what_ it is. They cannot tell me how my skin ended up this way. They can't tell me _why_."

"Oh," Amy sounded disappointed.

"It's my turn," Elphaba spoke up and asked, "Why are you being so nice to me? Why give up your time to help me? I'm taking your part in the show."

Amy gave a sweet smile, "You're not taking my part. You're the next one in line. My time is over, so I pass the torch. It's the way it is."

"So you really want to help me? This isn't some sort of initiation prank where you pretend to help me and then do something awful to me?" Elphaba asked hesitantly.

Amy gave another sweet smile, "No pranks. I don't do pranks. Now the rest of the cast, you may have a hard time winning them over…"

"Why?" Elphaba asked.

Amy chewed her lip, "Because they think you're just a publicity stunt to make money. They don't think you were chosen based on ability."

"Have they ever heard me sing?" Elphaba snapped.

"No," Amy answered.

"Then I'll have to prove them wrong, won't I?" Elphaba stated.

"I hope so," Amy agreed.

Elphaba took a pause, and then said, "You know, quite honestly, I didn't think I was going to like you. I didn't like you that night we first met."

"Why?" Amy looked shocked.

Elphaba took a deep breath, "I was feeling sorry for myself. I didn't think you appreciated the reality of Elphaba's struggle, and that you took for granted the opportunity you'd been given. You just looked like…your life would be so easy…"

Amy nodded, looking a little wounded.

Elphaba saw the expression, and then said, "I shouldn't have judged you that way. It's the exact thing everyone is always doing to me. I'm sorry."

Amy said quietly, "It's okay."

"When you grow up the way I did, you just assume no one could possibly understand your struggle," Elphaba went on.

"Well all have struggles. They're just different," Amy stated wisely.

"I'm starting to see that, based on the people in my life right now," Elphaba agreed.

"So…friends?" Amy asked hesitantly.

Elphaba smiled, "Certainly. And I do appreciate your help. I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Don't worry," Amy chuckled, "we all started that way."

Elphaba laughed, and Amy went on to try and explain each of the new people that Elphaba would soon call cast mates.

* * *

That night, when Elphaba got home, she changed into an old t-shirt and sleep pants, and collapsed on the couch. Sayid was in the kitchen making dinner, and he called out, asking if she was hungry.

"Sure," Elphaba answered through a yawn.

A few minutes later, he brought her basic chicken soup and crackers.

Elphaba smiled at him and teased, "It's July, and I'm not sick."

Sayid shrugged, "It was in the cabinet, and it was easy."

"Thank you," Elphaba said sincerely.

They sat together and ate in silence as they watched some old reruns on television.

Eventually, when they'd put the bowls on the coffee table, Elphaba said, "It's been a long time…since we've just hung out like this."

"I know," Sayid said softly.

Elphaba struggled, and then said, "I'm sorry things have been a bit off between us. I know I've been busy and not such a good friend. I've just needed to try things on my own a bit, for me."

Sayid looked at her, and his dark eyes took on a look she couldn't quite discern. Eventually, he said, "It's all right. I'm sorry I made things awkward."

"You know how glad I am you're in my life, don't you? I mean, things have been a bit crazy, but I'll never forget how you and your family have helped me," Elphaba said sincerely.

Sayid replied in a low voice, "Elle, I will always want you in my life. No matter how big a star you become."

"That's sweet," Elphaba smiled.

Finally, for the first time in a while, things didn't feel strained between them. Elphaba pulled her legs up onto the couch and rubbed her sore neck.

"I've been singing with my whole body all day. It hurts."

Sayid smirked, "I've been lifting fifty pound racks all day."

"Fine. You win," Elphaba conceded.

"Here," Sayid offered, reaching for her shoulders.

He started to rub the tension out of her neck and arms with his strong hands. It was effective, and Elphaba realized how tired she was. She slowly let herself lean back until she was leaning against him. Against her own will, her eyes began to close. She meant to get up, knowing he probably didn't want to be pinned to his couch by her, but she was simply exhausted. Elphaba fell asleep against his strong chest, glad they seemed to be okay with each other again. She hated feeling there was something wrong between them. He made her feel safe, and as much as she wanted to stop imposing, she wasn't ready to give that up.

Realizing Elphaba was asleep, Sayid knew he should untangle himself and go to bed. He knew that staying with her was just masochism on his part. Yet he couldn't move. After weeks of absence and tension, she needed him again. And if what she needed was for him to be a rock of strong certainty in her maelstrom of a world right now, that's what he would be. Sayid moved his hands from her shoulders and gently wrapped them around her. Careful not to touch her in any way that might be inappropriate, he held her while she slept. He very lightly stroked her arms and rested his cheek on the top of her head. He stayed that way for a long time, grateful, because if this is all he could have, he would take it.

* * *

The following day, Aidah let herself into the apartment as Elphaba was getting ready for rehearsal.

Without any greeting, which was her way, Aidah stated, "Look."

She handed Elphaba several newspapers.

Elphaba took them, and saw herself. She was on the cover of every paper. She had no idea when the pictures had been taken, but it was undeniably her. The headlines read like something from the tabloid rack. _Wicked _had clearly broken the story. Elphaba flipped through it, skimming the information about her joining the cast and being an actual green girl. The papers, it seemed, knew more than she did. They went into explanations for laypeople of the results of her medical tests. They explained her birth story and included some of the old pictures taken in the hospital when she was born. It was amazing, Elphaba thought, how quickly and efficiently reporters could get a hold of information.

"It seems you are no longer a secret," Aidah commented.

"It would seem so," Elphaba agreed.

"Is all of this true? All the things about you and your color?" Aidah questioned.

"I think so. I can't say that I completely understand all the test results myself. I can't even say some of these words," Elphaba admitted, holding up the stack of papers she'd put on the shelf from her doctors.

"Answers aren't always so satisfying?" Aidah asked knowingly.

"I guess not. But I'm starting to think the 'why' doesn't matter. What matters is what I do with myself. And more than anything, I want to do this," Elphaba now pointed to her script and score.

Aidah gave her a smile.

"I'm going to be _unlimited_," Elphaba said with reserved excitement.

"Child, I hope you will be," Aidah hugged her briefly.

"Now," Elphaba grabbed her things and swathed herself in fabric in spite of the heat, then said, "I'm off to see the Wizard."

* * *

As each day passed, Elphaba got a little closer to stepping on stage at the Gershwin. She got a little closer to proving she was worth the risk, that she was more than her color, and that she had a place in the world. And every day that she could, Amy helped her. It was a sweet, selfless thing to do, and Elphaba would be eternally grateful for it. She was regretting more and more her surface judgment of Amy. Her new friend was genuinely kind, if a bit perky for someone playing Elphaba, but she seemed to have a big heart. Amy was one more person that Elphaba was glad to have in her life.

As often as she could, Elphaba would also sit in the theater at night and watch Amy perform. It was something she'd been instructed to do by her Make Me Elphaba Team, as she called them, but it was also something she wanted to do. The more she watched, the more she understood what it took to move an audience to laughter or tears. The more she respected Amy.

Elphaba also found that making the transformation to Elphaba-the-Character would still require some alteration of her natural appearance. The show wanted her in the long, black wigs, because they were more uniformly styled, and her hair took on an auburn quality under the lights that they didn't like. They decided to paint her fingernails, as the other actresses did, because she needed the same shimmer from a distance. Makeup artists practiced on her face, accenting her color and giving her eyes dark depths that made her look and feel much more like a woman. The costume fitters tried things on and worked on the garments she would need.

At one fitting, the cragged-skin woman named Maria who was the master of all _Wicked _clothing said, "You're short, for an Elphaba. You're going to need heels."

"I think I'm five-three," Elphaba offered.

"Like I said. Short," Maria snipped while stabbing a dress with pins.

In the whirl of all these things, the days passed. Elphaba became more and more confident in her part, and she started working with some of the other cast members. She rehearsed with Stephanie Cedrick, who played Galinda, and who seemed altogether unimpressed with her new Elphaba. She worked on Act Two with Ilana, who played Nessarose. Ilana was of Romanian descent and had gorgeous, thickly-lashed brown eyes. Ilana was quiet until she took the stage, metaphorically, and then she sang with rich conviction. Finally, Elphaba met her Fiyero. The male lead was played by a devastatingly handsome, sandy blonde named Blake Stratford. His hair was perfectly wind-swept and his eyes were impossibly blue. His smile could certainly melt a witch's heart. Fiyero seemed to be a natural extension of him, and he flirted outrageously, which was something to which Elphaba was not accustomed.

One of the first things he'd said to her was, "The color and the accent? You're just wonderfully exotic in every way."

"Exotic...is one word for it," she'd snapped back, but his smiled had caused her to soften.

Blake was everything Sayid had once described about Fiyero in the musical. He was typically good-looking and he made things look easy. Blake was good in his role, and Elphaba wondered if she might come across as too timid in his presence. It was a question she would answer in the following week, when they were due to work on their scenes and songs.

On a Monday, two weeks into the rehearsal process, Elphaba remembered it was her twentieth birthday. She'd been so occupied, she'd nearly forgotten. She'd mentioned it in passing over the past few months, but it had snuck up on her. When she told Amy, however, Amy was determined to make it special. So when their early rehearsal was over, she insisted on buying Elphaba lunch. Upon seeing the crowd of people outside, however, Amy decided to run across the street and bring salads and sandwiches back to the studio.

As she came back through the door, Amy shook her head, saying, "There's a whole ton of people out there. They all want to know if you're in here."

Elphaba sighed and said, "I know. They know where I live now, too. Some of them keeping showing up outside my apartment."

"It's not going to stop," Amy said knowingly, "You're better than a celebrity right now. You're something they've never seen."

They sat cross-legged on the floor and opened their lunches.

"_Wicked_ doesn't want me talking to them. Not until I open," Elphaba explained.

"I guess I get that. They can kind of control your life, the managers and such, can't they?" Amy mused.

"Yes, but they're protecting me, and I need that right now," Elphaba stated.

"Okay. Enough of that. How do you feel like this is going?" Amy changed the subject.

Elphaba shrugged, "Good enough. Sometimes I feel wonderful. Sometimes I feel totally inadequate."

"I get that," Amy laughed.

Elphaba blushed a little and asked, "What do you think of Blake?"

Amy was suddenly guarded, "Why?"

"He's just so…perfect. I completely understand his casting. He makes it look so easy. But, does he…flirt with everyone? Is that how he builds chemistry or something?"

Amy's expression was hard to read. She was very quiet, and then said, "Yes. He flirts with everyone. I would just keep your distance, because…I would hate for you to get hurt."

Elphaba felt a little alarmed, "Has he had troubles in the cast? With girls?"

Amy looked away. After a solid minute, she said, "Blake is very good at what he does, but he thinks he's in love with everyone. I would just stick to acting, with him"

Elphaba nodded, then said, "All right. But he is a good actor. We have _As Long as You're Mine_ rehearsal tomorrow, and I suppose I'm going to have to kiss him."

Amy gave a tight smile and said, "He is a good kisser."

"Well, I suppose that's good," Elphaba said, not exactly sure how she should feel about that.

* * *

That night, Elphaba came home to find that Aidah had made her dinner. Apparently, although Elphaba had nearly forgotten, her family had remembered her birthday. She found the table in Sayid's apartment covered in foods she'd complimented Aidah on over the past six months. It smelled wonderful, and Elphaba realized she was starving. Aidah insisted they sit down and eat, and Bashir joined them after a bit.

When the meal was devoured to Aidah's satisfaction, Sayid produced a tiny box and set it in front of Elphaba.

Startled, she said, "You got me something?"

Sayid shrugged and smiled, saying, "It's your birthday, Elle."

Somewhat sheepishly, she unwrapped the box. Opening it carefully, she studied the contents. It was a necklace, with a charm carved in exactly the design of the iconic hat she now wore for _Wicked._ She took it out and turned it over in her hand. On the back was inscribed, _Till I Try, I'll Never Know._

Elphaba had no idea when or if she'd ever told him how much that phrase meant to her, and how she saw it as a sort of mantra for what she was doing. She wasn't sure if she'd said it in passing, or if somehow, he simply knew her that well. It was such a sweet, personal thing to do, that Elphaba had no words.

"I had a friend make it for you, so it's original. He's a jeweler, and a pretty good one," Sayid explained.

"You had this made?" Elphaba was even more floored.

Sayid nodded.

Elphaba stood up from the table and crossed to where he was sitting. She felt a tenderness toward him that she couldn't quite describe. He was just too good to her. So she leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek and said, "Thank you."

Sayid looked up at her, smiled, and then abruptly started doing the dishes.

Aidah and Elphaba went into the living room with coffee then, and let the men clean up. On the couch, Aidah helped Elphaba put her on her necklace.

"He really is too good to me," Elphaba asserted again.

Aidah gave a little laugh and said, "Child, my son would give you the sun and moon if you asked."

Elphaba looked at her hands and said, "I think he did have a bit of a crush on me, at first. But now, a crush seems silly. We're family, and I appreciate you all so much."

Aidah leaned in, her face taking on a serious quality. She spoke quietly, so that the men would not hear her over the clanking of dishes.

"Elphaba, my son has more than a crush. I've seen a crush. Sayid loves you with a strength that will not pass just with time. He loves you the way birds love the sky, or fish love the sea. Without you, he is not what he was meant to be."

Elphaba was stunned. The imagery Aidah had evoked was so beautiful, so heartbreaking, that she had no words.

When Elphaba said nothing, Aidah went on, "I will not sway you, because you have to make your own choices. But be careful what you do, because Sayid is struggling fiercely with his love for you."

Aidah went to the kitchen then, and Elphaba sat very still. She had no idea Sayid felt that strongly, if his mother's intuition was correct. She knew he seemed to favor her, had perhaps wanted to kiss her on occasion, but she thought that was simply because of his passionate personality. However, this was so much more. Elphaba had not imagined that Sayid could be pining for her that strongly. So she sat there, lost in thought.

A bit later, Sayid left the apartment, stating he wanted some fresh air from the roof. Elphaba decided to follow him, because she was so troubled. She wasn't sure what she might say or do, but she was suddenly compelled to be with him.

She found him leaning against the concrete wall of the roof, looking out towards the Hudson. Crossing to stand beside him, Elphaba was quiet for several minutes. They stood there, together but separate.

Elphaba had no idea what to say. She wondered if she should say anything at all. After a while, however, she decided to go about things indirectly.

Carefully, she said, "I have to rehearse the love scene this week, with Fiyero. And I have no idea what to do. I have no idea how to communicate that."

Sayid glanced at her, but said nothing.

Taking a heavy breath, she asked, "What do you think it's like, to be that in love? To want to be with someone that much?"

Sayid turned to look at her then. In his eyes, she saw a yearning that bordered on pain. He held her gaze steadily, and then spoke with deep conviction, "It's like having a part of yourself carved out, painfully, and knowing that that other person is the only one who can make you whole again. They are the only one who can ease the ache within you. And everything they say and do, every moment in their presence, is like a drug that briefly numbs the pain. It's like being plunged underwater and desperately searching for air, wondering if you'll die in the waiting. It's desperate torture, paired with the sweet rush of every time that person smiles, or calls your name."

Elphaba felt like he'd sucked the breath from her. The only words she could form were, "So...I guess...I need to communicate that…wanting?"

"I guess you do," Sayid stated, still looking at her.

She couldn't quite catch her breath, and they held each other's gaze. She suddenly flashed back to the first time they'd been together on this same roof. She remembered how he had pulled her to him and kissed her. She hadn't thought much about that kiss until now. The thought of it stirred something in her. For a moment, she wanted to touch him. For an instant, the air between them seemed to crackle with something like lightning, stinging with white-hot heat. Elphaba jerked backward, afraid.


End file.
